


Wires

by slytherintbh



Series: The Demon's Apprentice [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Weirdmaggedon, Apocalypse, F/F, Fights, Magic, Monsters, Murder, Sequel, Suffering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 14:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6569986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherintbh/pseuds/slytherintbh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse: a very unfortunate and apparently very real event which may or may not be imminent.</p><p>Mabel Pines, daughter of adversity, may be the only person left who can stop it.</p><p>SEQUEL TO GOLD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is The End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psychosomatic86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychosomatic86/gifts).



On May 3rd, 2017, the cracks appeared in the sky.

They were thin lines that fractured and splintered along the pale blue of spring mornings, teasing sparkles of other dimensions that defied scientific reasoning and - understandably - caused something of a panic within the human race. Every governing body convened with startling immediacy. Scientists desperately studied what they could, using a perfectly cerebral calmness to retain whatever positivity remained. For a majority of the populace, it was a rather different story.

People, generally, were used to waking up to an unmarred sky. Finding oneself trapped in what appeared to be an inverse eggshell was a little beyond human rationalisation.

Calls flooded into every source of perceived authority. Fox News was inundated with correspondence at the same intensity as the White House itself, which said a lot about the variety of people who wanted answers.

Religions made a vast number of claims. Some groups tried to ‘pray the cracks away’, resulting in nothing but frustration. A similar number were absolutely delighted with what they believed to be the imminent apocalypse, or judgement day, and gleefully supplied the world with as many horror stories as they possibly could. Their shiny moral towers didn’t last all that long given what the event _actually_ was, but for a while they could enjoy their hypocrisy in the genuine belief that they were going to finally gain their reward. The collection of good religious people was (while much, much larger) almost unnoticeable - they offered their care in the typical understated manner of the selfless.

They survived very well, in the end.

Those without any faith followed similar patterns in their approach to the new feature of the world. Some blamed it on global warming. It could easily have been argued that this was technically not _wrong_ , as it could have been a catalyst, but nobody really got the chance to ask. Others simply accepted that the world was going to shit and tried their level best to enjoy the days that they had left.

All in all, it was very human, and after a week without any further repercussions to the fractured sky, no less than twelve celebrities were either making clothes lines or trying to paint it as an astonishing promotional stunt.

24-hour footage of the sky in different countries was broadcasted on 3 dedicated channels.

It all seemed to be going rather well, until somebody new appeared, and the tables weren’t so much turned as burned into piles of unrecognisable ash.

It was May 11th, and New York was in uproar.

Reports flooded in of a boy, almost a man, standing atop the Empire State Building wearing (what appeared to be) a very fine suit. Naturally, the details varied - some commented on his short stature, others the disturbing youth of his features - yet they all agreed that his eyes were… strange. Eventually they agreed that his hair was brown, and a semi-famous Big Brother winner decided that the trespasser was only a 6 out of 10.

“WHAT WE WANT TO KNOW IS -” a shouty broadcaster gesticulated almost comically at the building, the sky, and a random passers-by, “ - HOW HE GOT UP THERE WITHOUT ANYBODY NOTICING! WHO IS THIS KID? COULD THIS HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE SUDDEN CHANGE ON OUR LITTLE PLANET? MORE AT 4!”

Swinging his legs over the side, Pine Tree smoothed out an already creaseless suit and smirked into the wind battering his face. The entirety of New York sprawled below him, eyes trained on his every move if they weren’t watching the fractured skies. He’d never really been one for attention before, but now it was nigh addictive. He loved the feeling of being somebody to be _feared,_ somebody that could be respected... Sensing a presence nearby, the teen looked to the side and found a demon similarly sat on the precipice of one of the world’s biggest landmarks.

“Bill.” Grinning visibly, the boy reached for a small black hand, and threaded his fingers with the demon’s. “Isn’t it just beautiful?”

The demon’s cat eye flickered up to the tensing void above and cackled mildly. “It sure is, Pine Tree. Better than I’d hoped. The prophecy never really gave much detail, but hey, it sure fits _my_ aesthetic.”

Pine Tree frowned. “I thought your aesthetic was the unnamed horrorterrors this week?”

“Not anymore, PT. Now it’s _the motherfucking apocalypse._ Besides which, for somebody who declared their lifelong aesthetic to be ‘ironic Windows Vista’, you sure are stingy.”

“Ugh, it hardly matters. How long until the next phase kicks in, do you think?”

“I’d give it a day. Maybe less. Humanity’s gonna get a real kick in the face, I tell you what!” Bill rubbed his hands together, cackling to himself.

“Good thing I’m not human, then,” Pine Tree hummed, body flickering between ages for a moment before resettling. “Being a shade is far more enjoyable. Still haven’t settled in though…” He looked to the demon, brow furrowed in worry. “Is it supposed to take this long?”

Bill waved his hand. “Eh. It can be a slow process, but yeah, you are a pretty _tempestuous_ , PT. If it doesn’t improve with the next phase, _then_ we have a problem.”

“Mmm.” The shade quirked his head at the ground, flashing another shark grin. “They’re finally getting the police! It’s only taken them an hour.”

“An hour?”

“Well, they gathered around and gawked for a bit - I mean, it took twenty minutes for anyone to even notice in the first place - and then the news teams did jack shit besides send two helicopters and a lot of obnoxious reporters… oh, look!”  

One of the cracks in the sky had opened slightly, revealing the foul darkness on the other side. Screams began to rise from the assembled crowds below, and a team of police and firefighters were streaming into the building. The shade stood, brushing down his front. “Looks like it’s time to get going, hm? Are we going through with the dramatic exit, or…?”

“Go for it, Pine Tree. Get all the media coverage you can.” Slowly slipping away, the demon giggled. “Let them know that they’re fucked, kid.”

Nodding, the shade stood and stretched up to the sky, rolling his shoulders. The rifts in the sky rumbled ominously.

The screams increased.

Twisting on his heel, Pine Tree felt himself slip from the side of the building, falling with grace from his high perch. Face to the skies, he laughed at the sensation of the wind whipping at his clothing and the cacophony below - it seemed that jumping off the Empire State made people a little _scared._ The splinters in the sky reflected in his golden irises.

From the perspective of those below, the boy had simply given up and thrown himself off. Oddly picturesque, he flew through the air - to certain death.

Only to disappear just before hitting the ground.

***

Mabel Pines was watching the news when it properly began.

Her brother was perched atop one of the tallest buildings of the world as though it were nothing, under the gaze of every single news channel in the world. Only one proper image of his face was available - a youthful, callous thing, with the telltale golden irises that made her heart skip and jump into her throat. The helicopter shot was poorly angled, as was to be expected, but there was no doubt that it was him.

Biting into her sandwich, Mabel checked her school twitter feed, one eye on the news. Still shut. Good. Even after a year without Dipper beside her in her classes, high school was confusing and saddening to a painful degree. It was the one good thing that came out of the impending apocalypse - almost everything was shut down, save for research facilities and public services. For once, capitalism had bent to the needs of humanity.  

Mabel had been anticipating the sudden changes, of course. Forewarned by Pine Tree (not Dipper, she had to remind herself), it had reached the point where fear had nearly turned to anticipation. Stanley had plied her for as much information as possible when she finally told him that her brother was _alive_ … in some sense… and she had suddenly found that the concept of having the shade around more was dangerously enticing. Sure, it meant that the world was going to end, but you had to make concessions when it came to the supernatural. They could stop it. No sweat.

At least, that was what Ford had stuttered into the phone a few nights before.

“W-well,” he mumbled, the sounds of Stan in the background. “I-it’s not the kind of apocalypse I w-was expecting, b-but Bill obviously took a slightly more underst-tated path. N-nothing I can’t fix.”

“I know that, Grunkle. Uh, are you okay, though? You sound a bit…”

“F-fine! Just the withdrawal again. It-t should calm down soon.”

When Mabel put the phone down again, she could hardly handle the guilt.

Ford did not know that Dipper was alive. Or rather, that he had come back as something else. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him; in the end, both she and Stan had decided that it would be better for the great uncle to try and overcome his alcoholism _without_ that extra layer of stress. He’d gotten used to the idea of Dipper being dead. So had Mabel, in all honesty, and trying to rewire her brain had proved so insanely lengthy a procedure that she’d not wished that upon her suffering family.

Now there was no hiding it, she supposed. The phone was sat near to the couch, almost threateningly close. It had to ring soon. And then there would be too many questions to answer.

Done with her lunch, she grabbed her knitting needles and continued her most recent project. It was (unsurprisingly) another jumper, in the telltale blue and white of the old pine tree cap, if only because they were nice colours.

_“We have new reports coming in that the boy has jumped from the building! After conversing with an unknown being - people are calling it a yellow triangle - they turned their heel and fell! Wait - hang on - even more unbelievably, an entire crowd of witnesses are claiming that he disappeared before hitting the ground! What an incredible event!”_

Mabel hummed, mother and father becoming audible as they entered from the front door. “Hey there, Mabel sweetie! We got pomegranates!”

“Thanks Mom!” She knit another row.

_“Questions are being asked as to whether this is connected with the rifts, and indeed whether we should be preparing to meet our maker! Twitter has exploded with theories under the name #Skygate, with some postulating that this is the work of the fabled ‘Illuminati’, a new world order which wishes to renew the planet. Indeed, links have been made between famous singer-songwriter Beyonce and the new state of affairs.”_

“Jesus _christ.”_ Mabel switched the channel to serious coverage, rolling her eyes. The number of theories and potential causes of the apocalypse was exploding - people had pointed fingers at the government, unknown aliens, 4chan ( _their_ response was to blame Tumblr), and now Beyonce, apparently.

Marie Pines wandered in, taking a seat and sipping gently at a coffee. “Heya honey. Enjoying your time off?”

“Well, as much as one can with the world falling apart.”

“Yeah… a man offered me a flyer as we were loading the car, another one about joining that ‘vengeful alien’ cult. Your Dad is thinking of making a collage piece with them, we have loads now. I especially like the one from that evangelical group, with all the fire? Very striking.”

“Mom, like, half of our family is Jewish.”

“I know, but…” she sighed into her drink. “I always enjoyed a bit of fire and brimstone. The fundamentalists really go all out.”

Tom, glasses perched on the end of his nose, almost walked into the doorframe, holding said flyer and a huge pile of similarly vibrantly coloured card. “You know, if we cut out the flames from the Christian ones, and then use them as a backdrop, we could probably make a hellscape…” He peered up at his wife and daughter, grinning. “Hey. I’m being a genius.” He riffled through the stack and pulled one out, throwing it at Mabel. “For you, honey.”

The front read ‘SINNERS WILL BE ANNIHILATED!’, in what appeared to be comic sans. A tiny stock photo devil waved a pitchfork threateningly. “Gee. Thanks Dad, I’ll treasure it forever.”

“Turn up the TV, I want to see what’s going on.” He fell down next to Marie. “There were a lot of people looking at their phones at the store, so I assume there’s been a wild event.”

Nervously, Mabel turned up the sound, nibbling at her lip. The picture of Dipper was sure to turn up at some point, and… well, she didn’t know what would happen. Generally, the memory gun’s effects had proven to be semi-permanent. With enough of a reminder, there was no reason that her parents couldn’t have everything come flooding back to them.

_“- increased size of the rifts seems to only be exacerbating the fear of the people, some claiming that the cracks are due to merely continue growing. The incident in New York a few minutes ago has already been linked to this, with leading scientists incapable of explaining the apparently ‘golden’ eyes of the boy, nor how he was able to climb such a structure and then disappear after what should have been a suicidal jump.”_

Welp. This was it. New footage - a video this time - captured Pine Tree’s face clearly. Mabel looked through the curtain of her hair at her parents, both of whom were visibly confused.

_“At this time, the identity of this man is unknown, lacking any records. One or two people have come forward to name him as one ‘Dipper Pines’, although this is yet to be verified.”_

“D-Dipper Pines?”

Marie had dropped her (thankfully empty) mug, one hand going to her mouth. She was trembling. “But… that’s our… surname... “ She clutched at her head, staring at her daughter. There was a pregnant pause.

Mabel looked away.

Marie grabbed her husband’s arm. “T-that’s… that’s my _son_!” she whispered. “That’s our son!”

Tom’s eyes suddenly sparked with the same recognition. “Fuck. Dipper is our son. He’s our son! Our - what happened - why is he up there?! I’ve not seen him in… since that summer...”

Two sets of very confused eyes settled decidedly on Mabel. “Aha,” she muttered, a weak attempt at laughter. “Uh. This is not the way I wanted this to happen. Yeah, uhm.” She turned off the news, one last glimpse of golden eyes peering into the room. “I have a lot to explain, don’t I?”

“Y-you could say that,” Tom whimpered, also nursing a sudden migraine. “But first, painkillers. Hold on sweetie, I’ll get us some water -” He disappeared into the kitchen.

They sat in an awkward silence, and the teen rather wished she had left the news on. Marie fiddled with her wedding ring. “So, uhm.” Mabel broke the atmosphere bravely. “What are you remembering?”

“I don’t even know. It’s like there’s a dam inside my head that’s splintering.” Her mother smiled faintly. “I know I have a son. His name is Owen Pines, or Dipper Pines, and he is a lot like me. Other than that…” she frowned. “The specifics are vague. Oh! Something about journals. And… medication.”

Tom returned with a pair of identical glasses, popping two white pills into his wife’s palm. They took them quickly, and then leaned in, obviously eager to know what they had missed.

“I’m -” Mabel winced. “I’m not sure how to tell you this, to be honest.”

“It’s okay, Mabs. I mean, my head’s already exploded, so whatever it is…” Tom reached for her arm, smiling gently. “It’s okay.”

“But it’s _not_ okay! It never will be. I - Dipper killed people, Dad!” Both Marie and Tom stalled, staring. “He… he killed a _lot_ of people. It… I… That sounds bad on its own. B-basically, Gravity Falls is full of supernatural malarkey. What we would talk about when we came home was all true. Monsters and fairies and… giant portals to other dimensions. Unbelievable stuff. But the most powerful being we ever came across was this dream demon, called Bill Cipher.”

Tom squinted. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this.”

“You do right,” Mabel replied. “We hadn’t heard from him in years. He possessed Dipper when we were twelve - long story - and we had this crazy fight in Stan’s mind, but like, beyond that, we never saw him. I figured he’d gotten bored and found somebody else to terrorise. But then when we were 15, he kind of recruited Dipper, I think? I wasn’t there. From what I can remember, he was either gonna take his body or force him to spend the summer doing his dirty work. Of course, Dipper chose the latter.”

Nodding, Marie nibbled at her lip, looking for all the world like a concerned child.

“He changed. What with his depression and mood swings, we didn’t really notice it that much, but then he kept disappearing into the forest every day. He was having these weird dreams and saying incriminating stuff in his sleep, until we all got so concerned that we had a meeting - sans Dipper. We kind of worked out that it was Bill who was doing it. We confronted Dip about it and he,” she sniffled. “He freaked out. Had a massive anxiety attack. I sat by his bed for hours and he looked the same as always, just really really tired.”

“Ford was going to put a metal plate in his head, to keep the demon out, but then - then Dip cast this weird spell on us and took away all of our memories. They only returned at the end of the summer. Anyway, then we went on a trip, and he made up this fake boyfriend to cover up his tracks… it’s all a bit vague. Until the day that all the people died.”

Sitting up slightly, Marie tilted her head. “Do you mean that gas explosion a few years back? I remember that, it was on the news.”

“Yeah! Except it wasn’t a gas explosion, it was a spell. We wanted to find out who had done it, because it killed so many people, including Grunkle Stan’s girlfriend. They built this whole machine to summon the killer and hopefully bring them to justice.” For a second, Mabel was thrown back to that day, remembering the sight of her brother rising from the summoning circle, bathed in unnatural light. It had been eerily beautiful to her eyes, even as her heart seemed to collapse in her chest. “We caught him again. He gave his soul to the demon. H-he was insane, pretty much. We had no choice but to report him.”

“The whole town went crazy with it. He was getting attacked almost daily - some people claimed that they’d killed him. They set traps, baited him into corners. Eventually…” she weighed up the safety of honesty. “Eventually he died. Now he’s a ‘shade’. They’re like, the servants of demons. I wish I could’ve told you sooner, but we had to wipe everybody’s memories, to protect them.”

Marie was crying, silently, behind her palm. Guilt streaked up Mabel’s side - her mother probably hadn’t expected to be losing a son today, a son that she’d been made to forget. Tom held his wife close and narrowed his eyes, similarly reddened. “That… there must be more to it than that. Right? H-how did he…”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” she whispered. The sight of her brother with a bullet wound through his head flashed in her mind and she trembled slightly. “Like. I wish I could forget.”

“You were _there?”_ He sounded even more concerned now. “Okay. You don’t have to, but please, please tell us, honey. So we can help you. Oh god, this explains so much…”

“It was, uh. A few weeks after he left. We had a plan to summon the demon and then… well, I thought we were going to save him. Ford shot him instead. T-through the head. I wasn’t - I wasn’t there at that exact point, b-but I did see h-him.”

“Stanford.” Marie was staring. “Stanford Pines. As in, the intelligent one, the one who Dipper didn’t shut up about for a good year?”

“Yeah.”

“He killed Dipper?”

“...Yeah.”

Deflated, Marie sunk into her husband’s arms. “I’m so sorry you had to be a part of that, honey. I just… I can’t believe it. Stanford just doesn’t seem the kind of person to go through with that.”

“Don’t blame him too deeply, Mom.” Mabel sank into the couch again, reaching for the remote with a definite wash of relief. “He was trying to stop whatever is going on with the world now. It was a tough decision, but he had to make it.” She hummed. The news was now plastered with the faces of scientists. “I just wish he hadn’t lied.”

They settled down in companionable quiet for a while, watching the televised debates and occasionally chipping in. It seemed that the elder pair were slowly cooling down; both faces softened and calmed as they processed what their daughter had told them. They were doing surprisingly well considering the gravity of the situation… then again, after having been parted from their son for so long, it probably felt a long way away. It did to Mabel, at times.

The phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Mabel mumbled, reaching out before either of her parents could. As she expected, the crackling quality of the Mystery Shack landline was what met her ears. What she did not anticipate, however, was the pure _volume._

“HELLO, MABEL? MABEL?” Ford sounded frantic.

“Yes, it’s me. What’s wrong?” She carefully shielded the phone from her parents, who were watching nervously.

“HE’S ALIVE MABEL! HE- DIPPER’S ALIVE! I-I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, I, I DIDN’T THINK IT COULD BE POSSIBLE! I JUST TURNED ON THE NEWS AND HE… MABEL?”

“Yes, Grunkle Ford?”

“Y-you don’t… you aren’t saying anything?” He sounded painfully downtrodden. “Don’t you understand? Your brother’s _alive!_ We can get him back, I didn’t kill him, Dipper -”

“That’s not Dipper,” she interjected, wincing. “I’m sorry. I already knew he was alive, Grunkle Ford. He visited me a little while ago. He’s not a human. He’s Pine Tree now. I’m, I’m really sorry, I meant to tell you when you were better -”

There was a burst of static and she swore, briefly moving the phone away from her ear. When she put it back, he was mid-sentence. “ - can’t believe you’d keep this from me. Did you tell Stanley? He didn’t seem particularly surprised either, just walked away- ”

“Yes, I told Stan.” Ford was about to vent furiously when she hissed down the line and effectively silenced him. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare shout at me for hiding this. You have been a _mess_ , Grunkle Ford, and you’re only just getting better. Do not try to tell me that you would have been able to cope with the news that he was alive, nevermind that that _fucking prophecy_ of yours was going to come true. We made a joint decision to protect you, okay? Neither of us liked it, but then neither of us liked watching you drink yourself into a stupor every night.” Mabel found that she was crying, and swiped the tears away angrily. “So I’m sorry, okay? Can we move past this before it becomes an issue and get on with stopping the apocalypse?”

Ford did not reply immediately. When he did, his voice was thick. “Yes, Mabel, we can do that. I don’t… appreciate not being told, but then I’m sure you didn’t appreciate being lied to that summer. So it’s fine. H-he’s not human, did you say?”

“A shade,” she mumbled, twisting the phone cord. He groaned heavily. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird. He talked to me last summer, and apparently he was a ‘newborn’, so I don’t think he’s that used to it yet.”

“Okay… ugh. That makes everything far more complicated. What about his old body?”

She giggled faintly. “You do _not_ wanna know.”

“Damn, okay. What about your parents? The townsfolk have begun to remember, unfortunately. Stan’s been fending them off for the past hour, although I think we’re just going to have to tell them the truth.”

Mabel cast a glance at her Mom and Dad, who were either listening unabashedly (Marie) or on their aging smartphone, taking pictures of the flyers (Tom). “Yeah, they’re remembering things. It’s a bit slow but I filled them in on that summer.”

“How,” Ford sounded terrified. “How angry are they?”

“Surprisingly chill, actually, although I think they’re holding back a bit.” Marie mouthed a definite ‘ _we can hear you, you know’_ and Mabel nodded in response. “They’re like, a metre away.”

“A-ah. Maybe that’s a discussion for another day.”

“Hah. Maybe.” She hummed. “How is the cold turkey cookin’?”

“It’s unpleasant, but I expected as much. It’s doing okay. Better than the past few attempts - I think I’m really getting it this time!” He smiled; Mabel could hear it. “By the time you next see me, I’ll be on the road to recovery.”

“That’s great. And we’ll have stopped the apocalypse too, hopefully.”

“Don’t even worry about that,” he replied; Stan began talking in the background. “I have a few plans already. We’ll sort it out. Hopefully… hopefully we can get _him_ back in the process. Shade or not, I reckon we can save your brother. Stanley wants to talk to you. I’ll hand it over.”

“Bye, Grunkle Ford. Keep fighting it!”

“Bye, sweetie. I will do.”

There was a fumbling of hands, a quick exchange of words, and then Grunkle Stan’s voice was on the line, barking in her ear. “Heya glitter pumpkin, how you doin’?”

She giggled helplessly. “I’m… I’m okay. I mean. I guess it’s time now, isn’t it? What we were waiting for.”

“Yeah, ‘spose it is. I’m as prepared as I can be.” He fell silent. “It was odd, seein’ him -”

“- on TV. I know, right? Like he’d never… died in the first place. I think Bill was there too, actually, I turned it off before I could hear any more. Parents.”

“Remembered?”

“Yuhuh. Apparently the town is, too?”

Stan croaked something of a laugh, suddenly sounding very tired. “You don’t know the half of it, kid. The door’s been swingin’ on its hinges. Your Northwest seems to be directing them to us. Cutebiker was the first, as you’d expect, but I must’ve seen everybody in town since. I think Sixer’s working on some kind of official statement to give ‘em, but hell, they are _not_ happy. Dunno what I could do to make them feel better.”

“Just be yourself, Grunkle Stan. You’ll make sure that it’s all okay. I believe in you.”

“Well, shucks kid, that’s nice of you to say. Not sure I believe ya but… I’ll definitely try.” He’d softened audibly. “I’ve also been told to say hallo from Soos, he misses ya.”

“Oh yeah! How is Portland?” Looking over, Mabel found that the lounge had been mysteriously vacated, parents tearing apart one of the rooms upstairs. “I never saw him as the Portland type, but I mean, he’s good anywhere so long as it’s with Melody…”

“Really good. Got his own tourist business thriving. Not for much longer if we don’t sort this out, of course. We -”

“-really should get onto that.” Mabel sighed. “I’ll be in contact. If anything big happens, then we go through with the plan.”

“Do ya think they’ll agree to it?”

“They have no choice,” she announced. “Now, I need some _serious_ Mabel Juice. Talk to you soon, Grunkle Stan!”

“Bye honey. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Finally, Mabel dropped the phone back into its holder, smiling faintly. Family. How she loved them. Even Ford, after everything that had happened, was back in her good books.

Intending to produce her horrifying concoctions in the kitchen, Mabel passed by the stairs, peering curiously at the shadows cast at the top of the stairs. Her parents were in her room. Why…? Padding up the steps silently, she peered around the door, to find her mother sat demurely on the bed as her father dug through a box of photographs. Occasionally, he would place a few on the floor next to him; she would pick them up, looking through the stack and chewing at her lip emotionlessly.

“See, he’s in this one, too -” she whispered, blinking at a polaroid. “But I distinctly remember it being a nature shot.”

“Same with these.” Tom pushed a few more towards his wife, hitching his glasses up with one finger. “So, what’s happened to them?”

“Uh.” Mabel cleared her throat loudly, making her parents jump and look over guiltily. “What exactly are you doing?”

“We just wanted to check and see if there was any evidence of your… brother.” Marie found the word to be oddly foreign, barely willing to roll off the tongue. “And you have all these photographs. He seems to be in most of them.”

“What? But Bill -” Mabel grabbed the nearest picture.

Dipper, wearing his trucker cap, was grinning in front of a zoo exhibit, arm slung easily over his twin’s shoulder. Behind them, a lion was stalking through the long grasses. Sunlight dappled the lens and warmed their faces. She could distinctly remember the moment, the feeling of a chilled ice cream cone in her hand, the growling from behind and the weight of an arm over her body. Another photograph. He looked a lot more tired in this one, having just started his medication. A small smile remained. Dipper was alone in the shot, sat on a dilapidated bench, sun setting in the background. Trees framed the sides.

Breath hitching, Mabel looked into the box. There were hundreds of them. Brown eyes stared up into her own.

“He’s back.” She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or to cry. “He’s back for good.”

***

A group of teenagers were stood on the bridge in Gravity Falls.

They were the necessary successors of Wendy’s gang - they had since gone to college, even Wendy herself - and the ‘teenage stupidity’ gap needed to be filled. As such, a new teenage clique had arisen to claim their fame, running havoc in a homage to the golden years that had just passed. A majority of the town had merely been relieved that they weren’t the complete hellraisers that the old group had been.

“C’mon, losers, get over here.”

A girl, hair multicoloured and curiously cut, led the others along the rickety bridge, eventually pausing to sit down and dangle her legs over the side. “Are you gonna sit down, or what? Come on Angelo, show these chickens how to be cool.”

Angelo, a short and tanned individual, shrugged and joined their friend. “Your wish is my command, Lady Evel _een_.” They bowed mockingly.

“It’s Eve _lyn._ Quit being a wad. Besides which, name calling is reserved for Egg.”

“I do wish you’d stop calling me that.” James (dubbed Egg due to his unfortunate head shape), grouched and sat cross legged across a few of the wooden boards.

“No chance.” Another girl, hair twitching, maneuvered around James and sat beside the other two, gesturing for the boy to join. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and gave in, daring to smile faintly. “The gang’s all here!” She crooned, wrapping her arms around Angelo (who none too discreetly removed them). “Now what?”

“We chill?” Evelyn was in serious danger of losing a shoe to the depths below. “Unless anybody else has anything planned.”

“Just chill at the edge of a dangerous precipice,” James grumbled. “That’s not stupid at all. You gotta agree with me on this one, Luce.”

“Shut up, Egg.” Lucy pulled out a journal from a worn satchel, clicking her pen eagerly. Her gaze roved along the skyline. “Now, what to write about…”

“Well, the world is still going to fuck.” Checking her phone, Evelyn sniffed grumpily. “You could write about that.”

“Or about the fact that the bastard that killed my parents is still at large.”

The group stilled as Angelo rested their head in their hands, staring down. “Sorry. Not the time, but - _ugh_.”

“No, no, we understand.” Lucy snapped the book shut and rubbed her friend’s back. “I’d be angry too. You can vent whenever you want, we told you that.”

“Yeah, anytime.” Evelyn nodded encouragingly.

“It’s nothing. Honestly, guys, I’m just having one of my moments. Thinking how lucky it is that I was on holiday at the time. And now with everyone remembering this - this _Dipper Pines_ , or whatever the fuck he’s called, it’s bringing it all back.”

Discomforted, Lucy attempted a considerate hum. She’d known the monster boy as a kid, seen him running about town during the summer months, fending off the bizarre supernatural beings that plagued them. He’d seemed perfectly nice. A bit out there, but then anybody with that kind of lifestyle would have to be. It still didn’t make sense to her that somebody so seemingly altruistic could have done a violent u-turn of that magnitude.

“Well, I dunno how you do it, bud. I sure as hell couldn’t.” Bumbling, James threw in his own offer of help.

“Thanks dude. It’s fine, really.” Angelo shuffled back and stood, wandering part way down the bridge, scanning the floor.

“What’re they doing?” Evelyn whispered, and the others shrugged.

It took a few minutes, but they finally bent down and picked up something from the worn boards. Walking over, they grinned and displayed a large, smooth stone. “Jackpot.” They twisted to face the largest rift in the sky - it resembled an ‘X’, and was a bit more threatening that the smaller fractures. “Take _this,_ you bastard!” They lobbed the stone with impressive force, watching it sail some distance through the air before plunging down to the depths below.

Lucy’s lip twitched. “Don’t throw stuff at it, Ange, you’ll _exacerbate the crack.”_

There was a second of serious silence.

The entire group burst into wild laughter, Angelo almost falling off the bridge. _“Exacerbate the crack,”_ they howled, wiping tears from their eyes. “You’re the best, Luce. Thanks, that made me feel a lot better.”

There was a rumble.

“Uh, I didn’t mean that literally,” Lucy mumbled, trying to be funny but failing miserably as the group stilled in panic. Echoing, the rumble continued, picking up in volume. “Shit. We should go, something’s -”

The X in the sky suddenly began to grow, lovecraftian darkness spilling out, before shifting to a sudden explosion of colour. Twisting whorls of unimaginable golds, greens, reds and blue became visible as the tear opened up. Several tentacles - were they tentacles? - burst through and licked at the sky, faded blue slowly bleeding orange.

“Oh _fuck_.” Evelyn whispered, grabbing Lucy’s hand. “They were totally right. I wrote it off as a conspiracy theory -”

“You wrote the apocalypse off as a _conspiracy theory -?”_

“Well, my Mom refused to believe it.” Pelting along the bridge, the group watched as a small figure burst through from the rift, grating laughter echoing through the gorge and across the town. “Dunno why I sided with her on this rather than something sensible.”

“None of us want to believe it, so we deny it. Typical stage of grief.” James’ moment of intelligent reasoning was lost as a tentacle dared to rip up the structure behind them, prompting a collection of screams as they barely made it to safety, tripping over one another in the rush to survive. The laughter increased.

Coughing up their fear, Angelo sighed. “Right. We need to go to the Mystery Shack.The twins who run it will know what to do.”

“Aren’t they the relatives of… you know who?” Lucy was bemused. “I didn’t think you’d want to be around that place.”

“It’s a necessary evil,” they countered. “Besides which, I’ve visited before. One of them’s quite nice. The other just disappeared to run tests on something. Either way, they’re our best chance for safety.”

All four of them pulled out their phones, dialling the numbers for their remaining loved ones, and made for the best protected place in Gravity Falls.

***

 _Hello! Welcome to Skyscratch radio - a new radio series devoted to reporting on the apparent apocalypse. This is being broadcast from a safe location, and I, Brook Howarth, will be providing round-the-clock coverage of the news worldwide! Just tune in to 106.6 FM for your essentials to surviving the end times! Up soon: Bear Grylls, and the best way to ration supplies, followed by an interview with an eye-witness from New York! Stay tuned!_  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Dipper already. Yikes.  
> Any feedback would be especially appreciated! This is pretty different to what I got used to in Gold, so I'm still pretty nervous as to how it'll turn out. Thank you for reading, and if you're an old reader, for staying around!
> 
> SONG: [Skyfall by Adele](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeumyOzKqgI)


	2. Dulce Et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori

_ “ORDER! OR-DER!” _

The House of Commons was in uproar. On either side, politicians argued, yelled, gesticulated or attempted to gain the attention of the Speaker of the House who was - somewhat unsuccessfully - trying to maintain some level of peace. The Prime Minister (supposedly giving a speech), lifted one arm into the air. “May we remember that, while this event is worldwide, we must especially offer support to the United States of America, where it has been  _ scientifically proven _ that the damage is most severe. We owe it to them to prove our consistent dedication to our relations.” A roar of approval sounded from the government, and he sat, smiling smugly.

“With all due respect, Mr Speaker, this  _ consistent focus _ on the US is concerning.” The Opposition leader glared across the despatch box for a second, before refocusing on the (rather exhausted) man at the head of the House. “While yes, we do have a duty to our largest ally, we also have a duty to our own people! Neglecting the United Kingdom in order to fuel an age-old friendship is  _ not _ a reasonable use of policy or of taxpayer’s money. Indeed, given the pure  _ severity _ of the situation, it would imply that this move is entirely political, rather than driven by a sense of altruism!” The chorus of cheers and booing practically drowned him out. “Instead, we should be focusing our attention on- ”

“Fucking hell, this is a mess.”

Just outside the entrance, Pine Tree peered into the debate, carefully cloaked with his magic. He’d been watching them go at each other’s throats for a good half hour now; with every opposing argument the atmosphere in the room became more vitriolic and stubborn. “Bill, UK politics is nonsense. I have no idea what they’re on about.”

_ ‘They’re a violent lot,’  _ the demon agreed, slightly preoccupied with his work in Gravity Falls.  _ ‘Mind you, not for much longer, right?’ _

“True.” Hitching up a pair of sunglasses, Pine Tree dropped the glowing cigarette he’d been pretending to smoke and ground it into the priceless flooring, smirking as the ashes curled and clambered up into the air. It was all for effect - he didn’t need the shades, or the cigarette, but it felt so much more  _ dramatic _ when he overdid things. It was fun. Chaos was  _ fun. _ Shooting Star really had been onto something with that. Sniffing at the air, he pulled the machine gun from his back and threw away the cloak, pacing into the chamber confidently. 

Every politician jumped to their feet, panicking. The doors slammed shut, security guards paused mid-run, faces twisted into perpetual determination. 

“Why hello!” Pine Tree called, watching as each man and woman froze up, held in place by a careless wave of magic. “Wonderful to meet you all. Really, an honour. The leaders of one of the world’s greatest nations!”

Yawning obnoxiously, he strutted easily along the centre, listening cheerfully to the desperate thudding of hands on the opposite side of the doors. He climbed up onto the despatch box, continued to walk, and stopped at the Speaker’s chair. “Come on then. Shift it.” Puppeted easily, the elder man rose out of his seat and staggered down, falling into line with the other MPs. “Thank you! Very nice position this, I can see why you’d like it. Almost a throne.” The shade leant into the chair, swinging one leg over the other. “Hmmm… what first…”

Head unfrozen, the Prime Minister desperately tried to speak. “Wh-why are you doing this? What do you want?” The rattling of the door became louder as the people outside became increasingly frantic. “Money? Power? Fame?”

Pine Tree raised a hand, silencing him. “Tell me something. Is this being televised?” 

“Y-yes? On the BBC. Why?”

“ _ Perfect. _ ” Smoothing his hair briefly, the shade stood, arms outstretched, gun resting easily in his palm. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his hair for a moment. “Well, viewers, allow me to introduce myself! I’m your worst fucking nightmare. I’m Pine Tree. I’m the servant of a demon.” He rearranged his tie slowly, watching the discomfort of the politicians out of the corner of his eye. “What do I want? A lot of things. Revenge for my death. My sister on my side. A good bit of chaos. What I want  _ most _ of all, however, is for you to understand this.” 

The shades fell back in front of his eyes and he smirked. “The world is on a precipice. These are some of your nation’s greatest. Watch how easily they fall.”

He opened fire. 

***

“Mr President, we need to take you to safety. Immediately.” 

A straight-laced agent stood respectfully before the Oval Office desk, stress written in every line of his face. Two security guards offered equally concerned glances, watching the movements of their leader with perfect attention. Sighing, the President pushed his chair back, going to look out of the window. “I understand what you’re saying, Jefferson, but I don’t feel like it would be right. My people are in need of guidance. I cannot abandon them.”

Looking at the world beyond, his wearied features reflected back at him. The skies remained broken, now dashed with the blood of some of his greatest friends. Nobody had foreseen the attack in the Commons; they were now paying the price. Britain was falling into ruin. “What kind of example would it set, to have me hide away from this? A poor one. No, I must stand with my country on this, stand with my country and remain here. Do you understand?”

There was no reply. Frustrated, the President turned, curtain twitching shut. “Jefferson, I must have my free -”

The room was empty. 

“I… Jefferson? Where did my security guards go?” Breathing through the sudden stabs of fear in his gut, he ran to the door, intending to go and ask for help - he rattled the handle, once, twice, thrice. Thrusting his weight against it, the President made to call out - 

“It’s locked, you know.”

Pausing, he felt his heart jump up to his throat, absolute terror streaking down his back. Shaking, the President turned.  

As he had expected, a cold-faced teen was lounging in his chair, vague golden stare seeming to dip into the man’s very soul. Quirking an eyebrow, the visitor picked up a pen from the holder, scrutinising it. “Huh. Nice. Think I’ll be keeping this, a nice little  _ souvenir.  _ Not many people can say that they’ve got an Oval Office pen.” He laughed. “Mind you, I’m hardly a person.”

“Pine Tree,” the President finally stuttered, furious. “I have a - wait, stop swivelling on that! The furniture in here is priceless!”

“I hardly think you’re in any position to be ordering me around,  _ Mister President. _ ” Even so, the shade halted his spinning and came to rest at the desk, leaning easily against it with one arm. “Nice to meet you. Having fun with my apocalypse? I know I am. You can too, if you feel like making a  _ deal.” _ The free arm billowed with blue fire, and the teen winked.

“A deal -? N-no! Of course not. You’re a psychopath. I’d rather  _ die _ .”

“Please, take a seat.” A chair bumped at the President’s legs until he was forced to sit, skirting along the carpet until he was in front of his own desk. “I mean, you’re gonna be dying in the very near future anyway, but you can’t say I didn’t try!” Shrugging, Pine Tree began to dig under the desk, whistling suddenly. “Is this whisky? The rumours were true! Oh, and it’s the expensive stuff too…” Grabbing a pair of glasses, the shade poured with astonishing speed, pushing a drink over. “Here. Have some.”

A little affronted by being offered his  _ own whisky _ , the President grabbed the glass grumpily, emptying it in one swift motion. Alcohol seared down his throat. Well, at least he was going to go down feeling vaguely comfortable. Pine Tree did the same; he wrinkled his nose at the small dose, grabbing the bottle and downing the entire thing in three consecutive gulps. “ _ Ah, _ that hit the spot! So. Let’s talk business.”

“What ‘business’? What more could you possibly want?” 

“The business of your death, of course.” Pine Tree’s gaze intensified, small smirk alighting on his face. “How it’s going to happen. Either y-” 

Suddenly, the teen flickered, momentarily shocked and infuriated as a far younger boy glared into the President’s eyes. He immediately switched back, swearing. “ _ Fuck, _ I told Bill to fix that, this is becoming a problem… ugh. Anyway. You didn’t see that. About your death. I’m giving you a choice.”

“A choice?” The reply was definitely wary; Pine Tree breathed a nigh-silent sigh of relief. “How so?”

“How do you want to reduce your people to despair? Either you take your own life - hang yourself, gun to the head, I’m not picky - or you let me torture you. If you commit suicide, they’ll never know I was here. It’ll seem like you gave up. If I torture you, then I’ll take credit, making me more infamous. Either way, you lose.” Pine Tree grinned. “Either way, I win.”

Previous prickles of fear were now an unavoidable wave of terror that threatened to overwhelm the President completely. Gulping heavily, he quickly ran over both possibilities. Retain his pride and suffer, or appear cowardly? How should he best serve his country… or indeed himself?

Standing, he bowed his head. “Fine. Do your worst. At least I die in the knowledge that I wasn’t a coward.”

The shade offered his wildest grin yet, golden eyes widening beyond reason. “That was the answer I hoped for.” Flicking a hand carelessly, he held the man in place with glowing chains, crawling over the desk with a gleaming knife. “Do try to hold in your  _ screams _ . I’m sure you’d hate for your children to hear…”

***

“ _... body was found mutilated in the Oval Office mere hours after leaving the senate buildings, marked with multiple triangles on his torso and arms. Any security guards have also disappeared; they are believed to be dead. Footage has been collected of the self-named ‘Pine Tree’ exiting the Office at the time of death, holding a bloodied knife. The branding iron that was used has not yet been seen, although scientists speculate that the marks were achieved using the same ‘magic’ that assisted the death of the British government earlier in the week. All branches of US government have since been shut down until further notice, to prevent any excess loss of life. Any information regarding ‘Pine Tree’ has been requested by the secret services…” _

Mabel hit her head against the car window, trying to hold in the tears that continually bubbled beneath the surface. The radio droned on in the background. Marie and Tom didn’t speak, only pausing in their travels to check the map.

Pine Tree had spurred their journey far faster than she could ever have imagined. 

A year before, she and Stan had produced an emergency plan for the apocalypse. When it inevitably occurred, she would wait for a sign that the events were becoming unmanageable - whatever that may mean - and take the initiative to move herself and her parents to the ‘Falls. It seemed counter-productive, of course, to head towards the focal point of armageddon, but the fact remained that it was the safest place to be. 

Mowing down an entire room of people had been the initial catalyst. Mabel had watched the footage unflinchingly, shut her laptop, and ordered her mother to start packing. Marie hadn’t even questioned it.

Now they were hurtling along the highway, utilising the relaxation of laws and trying to rationalise the insane situation that they had been thrown into. Marie was pretending to read a book; her eyes didn’t actually move from word to word, instead boring deep into the paper. She hadn’t turned the page for a full five minutes. Tom was listening to the radio with an exhausted demeanor, head following the path of the few cars dotting the road. 

To think that Pine Tree had  _ tortured _ somebody… Mabel could understand the absolutely helpless state of her parents. She was struggling to comprehend it herself. The President had been a good man, not revolutionary, but a genuinely heartfelt leader. He hadn’t deserved such a death. 

“Honey, can we turn the radio off for a bit?” Marie had finally exited her shell, blinking back into reality. “I - I don’t think I can listen to this.”

Nodding, Tom pressed the button, a quiet  _ click _ effectively silencing the long obituary. 

“Are you okay, Mom?” Mabel fiddled with the case of her phone, smiling at the glittery cat face that stared out at her. “You sound…”

“I’m fine, honey. A bit shaken up.”

“Still remembering things?”

“Mm.” Slender hands fiddled with the glove compartment. “Your fifth birthday party. He tried to build his own go-kart from paper plates.” While the words were warm, her voice couldn’t have been colder. “It’s difficult to connect that little boy with the monster who is going around - torturing people. Using magic.”

“I know what you mean,” Mabel replied, snapping the back of her phone off and then replacing it. “I can only believe it because of what happened in the Falls, and even then…”

Trailing off, she squinted out of the window, and straightened up. “A rest stop! We should take a break here. I dunno about you guys, but a restroom sounds pretty great about now.”

Tom mulled it over. “Well, fair enough. We’ve got another two hours ahead of us, I don’t see why we can’t take another break.” In reality, Mabel wanted to stop at every point possible - it wasn’t a new habit, she’d been the same way since she was five, much to her father’s misery. He turned in. “We’re doing well! 5 hours behind us.”

As soon as the car had stopped, Mabel was out on the tarmac, stretching eagerly. Sun streamed from up above. It was just past midday, the family having left home very early with a set of perfectly packed suitcases of essentials, hurrying to reach the Mystery Shack before the dangers could increase further. Back cracking, the girl grinned. Then she looked around, and the grin began to slip. Wind whipped around a vast expanse of unused ground. 

“Where is everybody?” Packing up a handbag, Marie shut the car door behind her, going to put one arm around her daughter. “They’ve been getting emptier with each stop, but none of them have been quite so abandoned.”

“Mind you, I was pretty impressed with that girl’s dedication to Starbucks, if she was gonna keep it running during the apocalypse.” Tom was already heading towards the building, apparently unfazed by the empty car lot. “C’mon you two, there’ll be somebody inside. The world hasn’t shut down just yet.”

Doubtful, Mabel went to follow her father, and Marie sighed. “This is going to end badly…” she warned, striding into the building irritably.

Dust swarmed in the hallway, absolute silence greeting the trio as they ventured in; the door  _ was _ open, so by all rights the building should have been manned. A slightly grimy floor and dull walls were the usual fare. What wasn’t usual, however, was the ‘ _ THIS WORLD’S FUCKED’ _ spray painted on the farthest wall. Mabel was almost soothed by it. At least somebody seemed to have the initiative to live up to that ‘imminent apocalypse’ aesthetic.

Three of the bulbs in the overhead strip lights were flickering repeatedly. The ventilation units must have been broken as the air was almost stiflingly stale, prompting a series of unhappy coughing fits from Marie. 

“Well!” Tom announced, clapping his hands together. “This is fucking terrifying. You two stay here, I’ll see if there’s anybody around.”

Watching him scout out the building, Marie held Mabel close, hand threaded in her hair. “I have to say, I never dreamt that we’d be in this situation,” she laughed (it came out more like a sob). “Do you think this place is actually empty?”

“Could be. I mean, the others weren’t, but they say the situation’s worse in Oregon.” Mabel offered one of her patented Cheer-Me-Up grins and watched her mother’s face soften. 

“I haven’t seen that in ages,” she mumbled, hand agitating her handbag. “I didn’t realise just how solemn you’ve been, honey. Carrying all that knowledge alone… it’s no wonder you were having those nightmares.”

Before Mabel could reply, Tom reappeared, shrugging widely. “Not a soul! It’s completely empty.”

“Okay. Then we’ll use the restrooms quickly and get away from here.” Marie pushed her daughter towards the toilets. “You go first, honey. We’ll stay out here and keep watch.”

Somehow, the restrooms were even more unnerving than the hallway, absolutely wrecked by whoever had been there last. Mabel supposed that the lack of surveillance made it an easy target. Washing her hands, she read the graffiti scrawled across the mirrors.  _ ‘The end is nigh!’ _ Not wrong, perhaps a little obvious.  _ ‘Revelation 21: Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth.’  _ Okay, that was definitely way off the mark.  _ ‘NICKI MINAJ is hot!’  _

Mabel smirked. Girls were great sometimes.

Finished, she walked out. Her mother and father were sat at a table at the nearby not-Starbucks, deep in conversation. When they heard her approach, Marie briefly squeezed her husband’s hand and stood. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Don’t do anything reckless while I’m away!”

Taking her mother’s seat, Mabel smiled at Tom, watching him draw mustaches on the faces in a newspaper. “Where’d you get that?” she inquired, noting that the date was fairly recent. “I don’t remember buying a paper.”

“Stole it,” he replied, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s not like they’re gonna need it. And hey… there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts over there. I think the refrigerators are still on. I mean. If that information is of any use to you.”

Mabel almost fell over in her hurry to get into the shop, jumping multiple tables and easily hopping over a torso-height ornamental wall. The telltale orange glow of the food chain was music to her eyes and she tiptoed in, keeping an eye out for the security cameras. When she’d located all of them (4, dotted around on the ceiling), she easily smashed them with the leg of a chair. Chances were that nobody would ever look at the footage; it hardly mattered, but it felt better to know that there was nothing watching. 

As her Dad had said, the refrigerators were still being powered. A moderate selection of confectionery was available… was it fresh, even then? Without knowing when the rest area was abandoned, she couldn’t be sure that anything was remotely edible.

Feeling brave (and possibly a little stupid) Mabel took a plain jam donut and bit experimentally into the side. 

It was fine. Slightly stale, perhaps, but otherwise fine. She sighed in relief, grabbed a bag, and took as many as she dared, purposefully avoiding any with excess amounts of cream. 

“Mabel! Mabel, where are you?”

Marie appeared in the doorway, worrying her lip. At the sight of her daughter clutching a bulging bag of sugar, she sighed, both in relief and disappointment. “What was your Dad thinking, sending you in here? Besides which… how long have those things been out? I don’t know that they’re safe.”

“They’re okay,” Mabel replied. “I tried one. Not as nice as when you buy them fresh, but I guess they wouldn’t be when they’ve been out for a week.”

“A week? What makes you think that?” Marie shepherded the girl out of the store, eager to get out of the building altogether. “You’d think this place had been left months ago, although maybe it’s a bit clean for that.”

“Approximate shelf life of a donut,” Mabel intoned, mouth full of pastry. 

“You  _ would _ know that.” Finally out in open air again, they fell into the car, Tom already sat ready at the wheel. He peered back and studied the branded bag with desire. 

“What flavours did you get, chipmunk?”

“Lemon, raspberry, toffee, a load others. I didn’t really stop to think. Nothing with tons of cream.” She shoved them forward, sugar billowing out in a cloud. “Go wild. They’re still pretty good.”

Grinning, he took a sprinkle-doused offering, driving back onto the open road with a great deal more cheer than before. A few radio stations were still running music; he settled on a classical movie arrangement, excessive trumpets and cannons blasting noise into the car. Marie rolled her eyes and threw her handbag onto the backseat. “While you were indulging in petty theft, I did some of my own. Take a look.”

Both intrigued and terrified, Mabel unzipped the top of the bag. Then she started laughing. It was full to bursting with sanitary products, rustling with every minor movement. “Mom, you are a genius. I would never have thought of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for! Besides which, they were totally  _ free _ . Given their cost normally, I couldn’t help myself.” As Mabel dug down, she also found a set of toothbrushes and deodorant. “As your mother, I get the sensible stuff. You steal the donuts.”

“Which are entirely necessary,” Tom chipped in.

“Of course.”

They settled in again, occasionally breaking out into small discussions which died just as quickly as they rose. The radio crackled and fizzed in the background.

_ “That was the ‘Lord of the Rings’ musical score, as performed by the British Philharmonic Orchestra. We interrupt your listening for an emergency broadcast. At 1:56pm today, another attack occurred in Europe on the United Nations building. The attack consisted of an apparent bombing, although no evidence has yet been put forward. Thus far it is believed that it was orchestrated by local dissenters rather than the infamous ‘Pine Tree’. 128 have been confirmed dead, 320 injured, with numbers growing.” _

“Not Pine Tree?” Marie sounded even more perturbed by that than she had the death of the President. “What, so we’re killing each other now?”

“It would seem that way,” Tom replied, muted. 

“Nobody said humanity was gonna get any better after all this,” Mabel opined, sighing gently. “If anything, we’re proof that it’s gotten worse. We  _ did _ just blatantly steal.”

“It wasn’t hurting anybody, though.” Her mother was defensive. “It was just… surviving, you know?”

Sniffing at the package half-full of donuts, Mabel offered her a doubtful stare and turned back to the window, once again watching the trees fly by at unnatural speeds. If she tried to focus on one her eyes stung; if she tried to stare ambivalently into the distance, something would naturally capture her attention and make the practice painful again. Mind you, they were definitely in Oregon now. Pine trees had crept into the scenery, much like the threatening chasms above.

There was a slight rumbling, and the teen peered inquisitively out.

One of the rifts in the sky seemed to engorge, light spilling through in a jagged rectangle. Tom stared up at it doubtfully, hand resting on the wheel. “Does that… seem odd to either of you?” As he spoke, one of the sides grew in size, even more colour bursting through. 

The sky dislodged, and then it fell. 

Swearing, he swerved the car to the side, watching in shock as a huge chunk of duck-egg-blue hurtled down, landing on the road and shattering. Sections danced along the tarmac and narrowly missed the car; one family driving the opposite way was not so lucky, disappearing completely as soon as they made contact. Clouds still moved through the pieces; Mabel was sure that she could put her hand in them and feel the dampness soak into her clothing. It was  _ bizarre,  _ akin to the way she had tried to imagine the nothingness in the Neverending Story as a child - it entirely defied the normal laws of physics. 

“That’s just weird,” Marie whispered, trying her level best not to look at it for fear of losing some sanity.  

“Weird…” Mabel muttered. 

“Okay, we are only half an hour away,” Tom mumbled, leaning into the wheel desperately. “We need to get to your great uncle Ford and ask him what the hell is going on. Among other things.” The latent fury that the teen was so afraid of bubbled through for a second. “Let’s just get to safety.”

***

Heels snapped smartly against gleaming floors, golden eyes scanning their location with practised ease. Pine Tree grinned. “Very nice. Great job on the interior, Bill, it really makes a statement.” 

_ “Of course it does, Pine Tree. Nothing other than perfection.” _

“Mhm…” Flexing his hand, the shade paused. “On which note, the anomalies keep happening, Bill. This form really isn’t settling down. It’s been the best part of a year, you’d think -”

_ “Okay, okay, so I may have been a bit careless when I was making it,”  _ Bill groused.  _ “I’m a busy demon, and honestly -  _ so  _ many finicky spells - I probably got sidetracked a few times. We can fix it. No sweat.” _

“Really? How?”

***

Clutching a candle to her chest, a nameless woman approached the gathered crowds, staring uncertainly up at the imposing building before her. Generally, she had no real interest in politics. Today, however, it seemed appropriate to pay her respects to the President - the torture he had endured in the name of his people was nothing that she could ever have done. It wasn’t something that many people could claim to be capable of enduring.

Thousands were clustering outside the White House. For all the numbers were excessive, it was almost silent; she was allowed to push through the throng with her miniscule offering of rememberance. 

As she wandered past people of all ages, a small cluster of Christians muttered prayers together, clutching at rosaries.  _ Our Father, who art in heaven…  _ Their pious mumbling merged into a gentle soundtrack of mourning. Other trains and threads of conversation travelled around her, snatched thoughts and worries of people she would never get to know. 

“I can’t believe it… I voted for him in the election, you know…”

“... it’s not just the western countries. It’s every leader, everywhere. He’s travelling round the world, deposing every power that exists…”

“... it’s his children I feel sorry for. They’ll never see him again…”

Finally at the front, the woman lit her candle using one of the thousands dotting the ground, daring to glance up at the building. It was completely dark. Dead. The backdrop of pottery sky was oddly fitting, flakes of impossible colour spitting down from the fissures. Somewhere near the back, a group of people started singing a traditional funeral song. Averting her gaze once more, the woman placed her modest light to the floor and began to wander back through the multitudes, finding an appropriate gap to wait out the vigil. 

[ _ “ _ _ Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; the darkness deepens; Lord with me abide…” _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=deJDkU6qiGE)

Even as the world was falling apart around them, the human race had seemingly found a peace with itself. The woman mused on this. At first, the response had been to panic - maddened, crazy furor, fame and glamour jumping into the boiling pot of tension and terror. Now, with the prolonged mourning for those murdered, everything had calmed. 

_ “Change and decay in all around I see; O Thou who changest not, abide with me…” _

Similar gatherings were occurring worldwide. She’d seen the pictures outside of Westminster, families clutching to one another. Aside from her frustration at the lack of coverage of the rest of the world, it had sent the message home. Reality seemed to be sinking in at last. Of course, for some this reality meant taking whatever they could, ignoring rule or convention in the favour of blatant crime. For others, it meant carefully caring for others and building support networks. It was the latter gathered there in the night, trying to mourn amidst the fear.

_ “... I triumph still, if Thou abide with me…” _

Agnostic herself, it seemed odd to the woman that people could cling so closely to faith at such a time as this. Perhaps the existence of a self proclaimed servant of a ‘demon’ had solidified the idea of a hell. It would indeed be a logical step to assume there was a heaven. 

It didn’t matter. So long as there was some hope. 

_ “Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes…” _

Knowing the final verse of the hymn, she sang along, looking up into the night.

_ “Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.” _

Peace fell once more, unified with the distant rumbles of destruction above. A single window burned yellow in the building before them, and then was immediately extinguished, floodlights suddenly exploding into light. They bathed the front in a soft blue glow - perhaps because pure white proved too painful on the eyes, or to honour the Democrats. Nearby, a woman was crying noisily. A thin, cheap candle was pushed into the woman’s hand; she peered at it, and then at the people around. Everybody had been gifted one, fire slowly being passed back from the front.

Once it was lit, she held the flame close to her face, cupping the light. It warmed her cheeks and made her pretty face soften.

They stood and sang until dawn.

***

_ And welcome back to Skyscratch! As predicted, events have escalated globally - since the loss of a majority of our powerful leaders, law and order are threatening to crumble. Much like the skies themselves! Considering the sudden influx of crime on our streets, it is recommended that you REMAIN INDOORS. If you are living underneath a large rift, then find a nearby shelter, as reports are coming in from survivors of surprise monster attacks and large chunks of the sky simply falling to earth. Try to travel away from Oregon, if you have to travel at all - the epicentre of the destruction seems to be located in a small town called ‘Gravity Falls’. Considering it’s folk-tale fame for the supernatural, this appears to make sense. It is the only thing that does… _

_ It’s not all doom and gloom! Many have taken the opportunity to show true strength in the face of this issue. Vigils have been held near every major ruling power, and in this time of adversity, I would like to take a moment to remember those who have already fallen. May they rest in peace. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apology 1) I am not American, I’m a Brit. I had to use some artistic license here. (Or rather, a lot, I'm so sorry smh)  
> Apology 2) I was brought up a Catholic and as such know way more about it than anything else.... again, agh? 
> 
> The world leaders are completely non-specified, because I a) don’t know who will be in power in 2017 and b) don’t want the British government scanning my emails. I don’t know if any of you know of Theresa May, but I don’t trust her in the slightest.
> 
> SONGS: [Hit and Run by Lolo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vyf69qOJdu4), [There's a Reason These Tables are Numbered by P!ATD](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gpu_mh9_gM4) (these are more Pine Tree themes than anything.)


	3. Underground

The situation in the Falls was both better and worse than Mabel had anticipated.

Directly choosing  _ not _ to look upwards, the Pines family rolled up to the Mystery Shack and blinked a little uselessly at the flurry of movement and anxiety from the townspeople, figures passing bags and supplies between one another. Shouts of family names were punctuated by stressed replies of ‘present’. It was odd to hear roll call outside of a classroom. 

Clambering out, she caught sight of the Stans, standing near an entirely new structure. It was a simple metal building, box-shaped and unappealing, sturdy door hanging open as people poured in an out. A new bunker. Most of it was underground, she guessed, and judging by the ghost that was the Shack, they had almost finished moving in. It was impressive how quickly the thing had been built; Mabel did suspect that it had been a work in progress for a long time before the apocalypse began.

Stanford finally noticed the arrival of his great niece and almost made a dash over, before seeing the fuming anger on Tom’s face. He stumbled back as the young man approached; the collection of families still outside stood and stared. Stanley didn’t attempt to intervene. Grabbing Ford by the lapels, Tom smashed his fist into the man’s left cheek, watching with some satisfaction as he cried out in agony. 

“And  _ that  _ is for Dipper,” he grumbled, dropping Ford to the ground and walking back to gather his suitcases.

“I admit, I probably deserved that,” Stanford managed to cough out, smiling weakly as Mabel ran to his side and hugged him. “Hello there dear. How long was he planning that for?”

“A loooong time,” she admitted, lifting his chin and surveying the damage. A patch of angry red was already forming, eye squinting in pain and jaw haphazard. “Gosh. He went for a patented Mabel punch.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” Shakily pushing himself to his feet, Ford glanced at Stan, who was watching apathetically. 

“Yeah, you ain’t gettin’ any sympathy from me,” he intoned, and turned away, grabbing suitcases from an overladen child. Stanley’s anger was still simmering somewhere below his miles of carefully controlled Pines-ness (a word in all but dictionary acquiescence - Ford thought it terrible, but Mabel had coined it during the previous summer, and as such it stuck. Besides which, it very aptly described the perpetual and almost violent ability of their family to make the best of the worst situation.) Ford shrugged a touch awkwardly.

“Didn’t expect any. Enough of that. How are you doing?” 

Mabel rubbed at one arm. “Well, the drive down was certainly creepy enough. Definitely true what they said about the Falls being the worst affected. Everything nearby was pretty much abandoned.”

“Yeah, we’ve had a lot of people leave. Mostly newer townsfolk. All of our friends have stayed, mind, which is a bit of pressure on us.” He chuckled. “Still, better to have some positive energy around. Like you!”

Mabel smiled and pretended not to have thought almost immediately of home cooked waffles and pancakes - the average fare of the old greasy spoon cafe. It had been almost two years, and yet - 

-and yet it remained fiendishly difficult to separate the old status quo from the new.

“Gee, I dunno, Grunkle Ford. Can’t help but feel that I’ve lost some of that old Mabel glitter… ”

“Some is better than none.  _ Anything _ is better than none. We need you here, pumpkin.” Bones creaking, Ford stretched out, back curving with a satisfying  _ crack crack crack _ of knotted pain. Something formidable reflected in his glasses; the girl found her gaze travelling unbidden to the skies. There it was. What she had been avidly avoiding for as long as she could.

A black pyramid hung in the air. It sat underneath the largest rift she had yet seen, an X of whirling colour which licked the sky from both corners of her vision. The pyramid was surprisingly formless - no colour or crack was betrayed on the gleaming faces, far darker and far less exciting than anything one would imagine coming from the ‘mind’ of Bill Cipher (if he could even have the concept of ‘minds’ applied to him). Mabel wondered briefly if the controlled darkness had been Dipper’s doing. 

Pine Tree’s doing. Whatever.

Ford tracked her line of sight. “They named it the Fearamid,” he hummed, gazing up at its austere shadow. “Which, while a little tasteless, is certainly fitting.”

“Who’s  _ they?”  _ Stan called from somewhere within the bunker. Disgruntled, he stormed over and jabbed his brother’s stomach. “ _ I  _ named it. And  _ I _ think it’s a brilliant name. Now quit yappin’ and grab something.”

Rolling his eyes, the elder man smiled, patting his great niece on the shoulder and departing to help out with the final bits of preparation. Guilt thrumming in Mabel’s arms, she realised that her parents had probably unloaded the car by then, and was about to find them to apologise when a voice made her start and turn her head. 

“PACIFICA NORTHWEST, YOU GET BACK HERE  _ THIS INSTANT _ -” 

To Mabel’s joy, Pacifica was nearing the bunker, carrying two surprisingly modest suitcases. Preston was in hot pursuit with a significant wad of money clenched in one fist. “Pacifica, I  _ refuse _ to let you stay in this… plebian accommodation. We have links to some excellent places where your mother and I wish to stay and if you would just  _ listen _ for  _ one -” _

“I’m not going, Dad!” Unloading her possessions into Stan’s waiting arms, she turned to look at her father, hands on hips. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s the  _ end of the fucking world _ . You can’t pay your way out of this one! No amount of money is going to save you if the sky falls in, or if you get attacked by monsters. We have an expert on the supernatural  _ right here, _ and yet you’d rather go to some elitist hotspot, where they will be so preoccupied with their shitty gold-plated champagne flutes that everyone’ll dead in days!”

“Do  _ not _ talk about our friends that way, Pacifica! I am your father, and I am ordering you to get on our helicopter right this instant!” 

“You may be my father, but I’m a legal adult. And I’m staying right where I am.” Taking Mabel’s arm (Mabel jumped and blushed), Pacifica waved carelessly. “Have fun. I hope for your sake that it’s quick. Tell Mom that I love her, or whatever.” 

“ _ Pacifica -” _ For a moment, Preston’s exasperation lilted into genuine upset, a sight so rare that Mabel craned her head to catch his expression. As soon as it appeared, however, it was squashed beneath typical wealthy arrogance. “Fine. Good luck in this  _ hovel _ . I may decide to write at some point… I shan’t be expecting a reply.”

“Laboured your point enough, haven’t you?” Blonde hair twitched around the heiress’ curving cheeks. “Now push off.”

Preston did indeed ‘push off’, although it wasn’t without a few vibrant curses and a promise to disinherit his  _ only _ daughter, who  _ obviously  _ didn’t love her family at all. Heaving a sigh of relief when he finally left, Pacifica turned her attention to her friend. “Hey there Mabes. How are you?”

“Could be better, I admit. Missed you, Paz. Nerd.” 

“Loser.” A grin was already tugging at Pacifica’s lips. “I missed you too. It’s all been going on here. Kinda been odd without you, seeing as ‘odd’ and ‘Mabel Pines’ kind of go hand in hand.” The third part of the equation hung in the air, unsaid, ghosts of past adventures stumbling around their ankles. “Gotta warn you, people may look at you… strangely.”

“Why?” Walking towards the bunker, Mabel spotted her parents disappearing into the darkness within. Something clicked in her head. “Oh yeah, they remembered...”

“Understatement of the century, babe. Everybody was outside the Mystery Shack the day that he appeared on the Empire State. And, god -” a rare giggle slipped out. “ - a bit of a drama queen, this ‘Pine Tree’.”

“You can see the Dipper in there,” was Mabel’s simple reply, and she turned her attention to inspecting her new surroundings. 

The square of the entrance didn’t hold much. It was nearly as simple as its exterior - metal walls, a rather curiously placed gun rack and a set of stairs leading to the lower floors. The floor bubbled up with occasional ruts, like speed bumps, and Mabel wondered what they could possibly be for.  A set of long stairs led downward, all metal walls and cold, clinical survival. Three elevators were lined up at the back wall, Marie and Tom disappearing into one as a harassed Cutebiker exited another.

“Oh,  _ hallo _ girls! It’s floor three you’re wanting. Lovely to see you, by the way -!”

He disappeared outside. 

“How did the people in this town get weirder?” Paz mumbled, mostly to herself. They entered the middle elevator, Mabel sharply jabbing a plain ‘3’ on a surprisingly extensive number pad. Used to the aching rumble of the lift down to the basement, she was pleasantly surprised by the smooth descent it made. 

Then Mabel realised how close Pacifica was standing and she found her breathing was oddly compromised. 

“Anyways, Mabs, I dunno what they’ve got in terms of entertainment down here, but -” the blonde looked over and raised an eyebrow. “You all right there?”

“Just - claustrophobic!” Mabel sounded believably panicked. “Maybe a bunker isn’t the best place, heh.”

“No… maybe not.” Pacifica chuckled to herself as the movement stopped, elevator doors opening smartly.

For some reason, Mabel half expected a chorus of voices to greet them, being used to traditional Gravity Falls friendliness. Nobody noticed the arrival of the girls. The hallway that they were introduced to was entirely empty, a singular door waiting straight ahead. Shrugging, Pacifica pushed through it, blinking surprised into the  light. 

How on the  _ earth _ they had managed to build such a sizeable cafeteria so quickly absolutely escaped the Pines and the Northwest, both of them gaping in genuine awe. Sure, it resembled a high school layout more than anything - initial shock wearing off, Pacifica’s nose was wandering dangerously skyward - but it was definitely enough for the entire town. Maybe more. People were sat around at tables, chattering, and a few looked over as the pair entered shyly.

_ “YO! _ Cutie!  _ Cuties! _ Over here!”

Mabel recognised Wendy’s voice before she recognised Wendy, gasping in delight as the redhead waved her over from a far table. She dragged Pacifica over, hugging the older teen immediately. 

“Wazzup, loser? You got prettier! That’s like, no fair, man.” Wendy hugged back just as tightly, pulling back to ruffle the brunette’s hair. 

“You say that as if you aren’t already gorgeous, Wendy.”

“Oh, I know I am, but I don’t want competition. It’s difficult being the hottest girl in the ‘Falls.” Winking, the lumberjack nodded appreciatively at Pacifica. “Yep, the level of overall attractiveness in the bunker has significantly increased.”

Mabel sat on the table next to her friend, looking out at the growing crowd. “Let me guess, Stan and Ford were dragging it down?”

“ _ Hardly. _ Those two have that ‘silver fox’ charm. Pretty good for guys who qualify for pensions.” Wendy caught sight of the horror on Mabel’s face and burst out laughing. “I’m  _ kidding!  _ Mostly. Anyways, how have you been? Keeping your chin up?”

“Just about, yeah. Nothing a Pines can’t handle. What about you? Must have been interesting… remembering.”

The light in Wendy’s features extinguished almost immediately, a small forced smile breaking out. Pacifica hummed nervously and made her excuses, wandering off to find her luggage. Perhaps bringing Dipper up had been the wrong decision - Mabel sure was good at making those - but the lumberjack’s face softened gradually.

“It was weird, yeah. Very weird. Suddenly - blam! - I have all these memories about a super awesome friend who I love to pieces. Then all these memories about why I’m supposed to hate him.” The teenage twang had gone, replaced with a foreign maturity. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

Mabel opened her mouth to speak and failed. A word danced at the tip of her tongue, almost given breath before another set of voices cut across, obnoxiously loud. Wendy rolled her eyes, resting her head on her hand. “Oh, brother.  _ These _ lot.” A group of teenagers burst in from a nearby doorway, squabbling over a first-edition DS. One of them lagged behind the others, nibbling at their lip. 

“Aren’t they the ones who hang out on the bridge?” the brunette wondered aloud. 

“You bet they are,” Wendy replied, still decidedly put out. “Trying too hard to be like my old squad. They won’t manage it. We were  _ unique, _ man. One of a kind!”

“Where are they?”

“Oh, the guys? Humph.” Threading her fingers through her hair, Wendy shrugged one shoulder. “All over the place. Robbie is with Tambry in Portland. Thompson went off to do an internship somewhere in DC, and Lee and Nate were doing a tour of Europe. I was gonna join ‘em, but… this all happened.” She smiled half-heartedly. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still sorry, though. I’m the nearest Pines, so I take responsibility.” 

Wendy laughed, jumping down from the table and beckoning. “Nah, you don’t have to make up for what he did. You’re looking super un-Mabely! Gotta get that crazy wild child back out, yeah? Now come on, I’ll give you a tour.”

A touch apprehensive, Mabel nodded, shuffling down and following the older teen through the nearest passageway. It was already promising to be labyrinthine and impossible to navigate. “Your Grunks have been building this for years, I think.” The lumberjack gestured to a slim door on her left. “Communal area. Got some decent furnishings. And to our right, the best room. Games room.”

Pushing her head in briefly, Mabel caught sight of an array of arcade cabinets and a pool table. Soos would have fit in perfectly, and it was strangely empty as of yet. She left with a shiver.

“Right, come down here.” Footsteps echoing, they continued down the hallway. The metal entrance required a pin number, which the lumberjack cheerfully punched in. “Get ready for your mind to be fucking  _ blown _ , man.” Wendy paused. “Ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be.” Mabel wandered in, void of any specific expectations - 

Guns. Everywhere. For a medium-sized room, it felt horrifically cramped, full of weapon racks and kevlar vests. Feeling sufficiently apocalyptic, the brunette glanced over at her friend, amused by the almost lustful look in Wendy’s eyes. “Have I ever said how awesome Stanford is?” the redhead mused. “Because he really is. Just. The coolest.” 

“This was Ford’s idea?”

“Oh yeah. He wanted to be prepared for anything.”

“Seems more like Stan to be so trigger happy, but eh, I can see it.”

Exiting quickly, they made their way over to the elevators once more, far more eyes now trained on their movements. “It might have been Ford’s idea, but Grunk number one was definitely on board with it. Stan paid next to nothing for that lot, if you’ll believe what he says.” They entered the elevator, and Wendy pointed at the number ‘5’. “That’s the conference room. We need to be in there at like, 8. Setting ground rules and all that shit. But I wanna take you to your room.” She laughed. “Take that as you want.”

“Don’t be awful,” Mabel bit back, flushing visibly. She pressed the ‘4’ button. “What’s on 2?”

“No idea,” Wendy admitted airily. “That floor belongs to your lot. Stanford, mostly. I think he’s shifted his experiments there, and wanted some space for it.”

Spewed out onto yet  _ another _ grey corridor, Mabel sighed. This one was even longer than the rest, with intersecting paths on the left and right. “God forbid it be a simple structure,” she grumbled.

“Ahh, it’s not so bad. It’s all bedrooms here. Yours is one of the first, I think.” Wendy began to walk along the corridor, turning left and reading the signs on each door. “Liz… Angelo… Mabel! 

Here we go.” She kicked the door open, grinning. “See, your stuff is already out on the bed. Parents are across the way. What more could you want?”

With some trepidation, Mabel entered her room. It was… better than expected. The floor wasn’t carpeted, but the cold concrete was smooth at least. The walls were a gentle duck-egg blue. A small navy rug waited beside her bed, which sat in the middle of the room, a singular bedside table boasting a bunch of flowers (probably from Stan). True to form, her suitcase was parked on top of her pain white duvet. The only other items in the room were a simple TV set and wardrobe. 

“Is this what everyone gets?” Mabel hummed, skimming her hand along one wall.

“Yeppers. Aside from the bouquet. Crazy, right? Paranoia is good for something, at least.”

Noticing a key waiting on her bag, Mabel wandered out and locked the door behind her, oddly satisfied by having a space of her own. “You knew about this, then?”

“Considering they asked for my dad’s help, yeah. Dunno if they’ll admit to it, though. Seems a bit crazy. To build a whole underground community in the off chance the world ends.” Wendy led her out into the main corridor. “One last place. Bathrooms. Just showers, I’m afraid, but there’s a gender divide, if you care. Can’t say it bothers me much.”

“Not really,” the brunette replied, gazing up at the two stereotypical MALE/FEMALE signs above the washroom doors. Opting for the FEMALE route, they entered into a wide room. It was reminiscent of a swimming pool changing room, toilet cubicles running along one side, showers on the other. At the back sat the sinks and a wide mirror, manned by - 

“MABEL!” 

Before she could react, the brunette was being manhandled by Grenda, who had become even stronger over the past few years. Pacifica watched with some amusement, arm resting on the sink, as Candy carefully planned where to cut her hair. Mabel hugged back, laughing. “Nice to see you too. How have you guys been?”

“We have been fine,” Candy replied, smiling in the mirror. “It is good to see you, Mabel. Much as it is a shame that this is the situation we find ourselves in, it’s worth it to get to be with you again.”

“Yeah, totally!” Grenda carried her over, setting her down next to Pacifica. “We’re working out our super cute new looks!”

A little lost, Mabel glanced over at Pacifica. Sighing, the blonde gestured to the scissors waiting by the sink. “We have to cut our hair short. Long hair is a liability if we have to fight, apparently. Grenda says it’s bullshit, which I happen to agree with, but I’m pretty sure we can pull off some gorgeous short hair. Right, girls?”

“Right!” Candy turned to look at Wendy. “And you should get it shaved.”

“Mohawk-style? I could dig that.” Wendy walked up, turning her head in the mirror. “Maybe a mullet? Hum.”

***

It was a full hour before they left the bathroom, all sporting new hairstyles. Perhaps it all felt a little ridiculous, but Mabel could appreciate the camaraderie - her own bob was surprisingly well-suited to her, and Pacifica looked just as perfect as ever, blonde now only just brushing her shoulders. Candy and Grenda were much the same; the only real outlier was Wendy, with one half of her head entirely shaved, the other side cut into some ridiculously emo semi-fringe.

“That would not work on anybody else,” Pacifica grumbled.

“Fully aware, Northwest.”

“Shut it, Corduroy.”

The cafeteria was already mostly full, most sets of eyes following Mabel as she searched for her parents amongst the crowd. Marie and Tom were eating furtively in the farthest corner, bag of donuts looking distinctly thinner than it had upon arrival. The cluster of girls ran over. 

“Hey there, honey.” Marie blinked up at the collection of faces, momentarily confused by her daughter’s change in appearance. “These are your friends, I take it?”

“You bet!” Mabel slung her arm around Pacifica’s shoulder, eliciting a small blush. “This is Paz - Pacifica Northwest. Then the redhead is Wendy -”

“‘Sup.”

“ - this is Candy, and this is Grenda. Guys, meet my parents!” 

There was a general chorus of greeting and they sat along the table, Pacifica looking furtively at the largely empty seats. “Bit sparse, aren’t we?”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “I know. Mabel gave us the impression that this place was a bit more  _ welcoming _ than this. Everyone looks at us like we’re aliens.”

“Or criminals,” Marie interjected. “Donut?”

Eagerly snatching a confectionery from the bag, Candy pushed her glasses up smartly. “I would guess that their reluctance is due to your position as Dipper’s parents. He is not a very popular person at present.”

Gaze skirting along the edge of the table, Tom swallowed his feelings. He smiled. “I hope they realise we know about as much as they do on the matter. Less, even.”

“And if they don’t, I’ll PUMMEL IT INTO THEM.” Grenda slammed her fist into the table, accidentally crushing the sugar-laden donut in her other hand. 

“Thank you ...Grenda.” Marie sat up straighter, looking over the crowd of chatting heads. “Ah look, it’s the Stans. Maybe they can tell us what’s going on with the food.”

Stalled every other step, Stanford and Stanley were making their way over to the group, trying to silence the vast array of questions being directed at them by the townsfolk. Eventually Stan shook his head and stormed over, sitting next to Tom and yanking the Dunkin’ Donuts bag away without saying a word. Ford raised one eyebrow at the sight, sitting by Marie. “Hello everyone. Have you found your way around with sufficient ease?”

“It’s definitely confusing, Grunkle Ford,” Mabel hummed. “But it’s very impressive. I bet nobody else has a bunker as good as ours.”

“I should think not,” he smirked, chest puffing out. “Aside from Jesus and Melody. They say the move has been extremely successful thus far.” He chuckled. “If I’m going to be honest, a lot of this was excavated just after the portal was completed. Not on this scale, of course, but the townsfolk have been very helpful.”

“What about food?” Marie inquired eagerly. 

“That’s in the works,” Stan grumbled. “We have a lot of mouths to feed and still ain’t quite sure how to do it. Hope you guys like spam. On which note, we better hope we don’t have any veggies in here, because they aren’t gonna have a huge choice before too long.”

***

Everyone was waiting in the conference room long before eight, and Mabel rather thought that the name was a bit kind for what the room actually held. Certainly sizeable, there was a singular long table in the centre, with one chair - for Ford, probably - and the people milled around in groups. Cutebiker had run over and offered another excited greeting. Tad had readily introduced himself to the Pines parents (an appreciated gesture); the teenagers from earlier were also sporting slightly lopsided haircuts. 

Ford swanned in at 8 precisely, followed by an increasingly disgruntled twin. “Ah, you’re all here! Excellent, excellent. I won’t take too much of your time, don’t worry. Just need to make introductions and set down some rules.”

He took his seat graciously. “If you would all stand in families that would make it much easier, thank you.”

Mabel made sure that Pacifica stayed at her side. 

“Your contributions over the past week have been invaluable, and we all owe Dan Corduroy a debt of gratitude for the immense amount of work he has put into making the space livable over the past few years. This move in could have been a struggle were it not for the strength of character shown by everybody here, and it is a very promising start.”

“However, we cannot forget the events that have led us here. Pine Tree and Bill offer a very serious threat indeed, and intel suggests that there are increasing numbers of monsters in the region. Nothing we can’t deal with, of course, but it is vital to remember the dangers as well as trying to live as normally as possible. Which brings me to the rules.”

“I am going to be the ultimate source of authority here. I know that certainly seems a touch dictatorial, but be assured that I will not abuse this power - in the case of more day-to-day issues, such as rooming, it would be advisable to talk with Mayor Cutebiker. He will remain the ‘mayor’ of the bunker, so to speak, while  Stanley and I will take the more complex and contentious issues to deal with. I recommend some kind of democratic decision board be made, but again, that decision lies with the Mayor.”

“The main rule of the bunker is not to steal. On the outside this would have seemed superfluous, perhaps. When living in such an enclosed community, however, it is imperative that every person live as carefully and unselfishly as possible, so that survival is less of a struggle. Second rule - if you do not have the PIN codes for the locked rooms,  _ do not ask. _ If you do have it, then do not share it. Those doors are locked for a reason. If you get to the point where you need the code, then and  _ only then _ will you get it. On which note - if the Pines and Pacifica Northwest would stay behind, you need extra information.”

Stan piped up. “Yeah, we gotta keep stuff as safe as possible. Third rule is not to go outside unless ya got a real reason. There’s a hell of a lot of effort in openin’ the main doors, so it’s better that ya keep inside. Fourth rule is that any odd behaviour must be reported. Immediately.”

Ford’s mouth twisted into a faint grimace. “Small spaces can have very adverse effects upon a person’s psyche. Better to make sure that the safety of the majority is assured, utilitarian as that may seem. That’s the majority of the rules, beyond the obvious. Keep the peace, respect privacy, etc etc. A full list will be posted around the dormitories. Any questions?”

There was a second of silence. Evelyn raised her hand. “What’s on floor 2?”

Huffing, Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Curious as always… those rooms belong to my brother and myself. They contain a lot of sensitive experiments and information, so, as before, they are locked. Anything else?”

After a brief ping-pong of questioning, Stanley stood, walking over to his great niece. “I know you’re all acquainted with Mabel, but you won’t have met Marie and Tom. They’re just as new to this as everyone else, and it’d be great if we could give ‘em a proper ‘Falls welcome and treat ‘em well.” 

Perhaps the murmur of assent was a touch reserved, but on the whole people seemed pleased with the meeting and dispersed, leaving the Pines and Pacifica alone.

“Pin is 3108,” Stan yawned, leaning heavily on the table. 

“Why do we have to know?” Pacifica questioned. “I mean, I’m hardly complaining, but it does strike me as odd.”

“Most of the hidden stuff is weaponry.” Ford looked exhausted. “As of yet, we don’t know if we will need it.” He glanced at Mabel curiously. “I’m going to stop by in a bit, if that’s okay. I have a few questions.”

***

‘Later’ turned out to be half an hour, so Mabel was still unpacking her belongings, thankful for the pair of slippers protecting her feet from the chilled floor. A quick succession of knocks sounded at the door. Stanford almost looked furtive, although he had every right to be there - an undertone of fear and uncertainty that sat almost constantly behind his eyes. 

“Come on in, Grunkle Ford! I was just setting up.” Mabel tacked a worn  _ Frozen _ poster to her farthest wall. “It’s difficult making it feel ‘homey’.”

“I’m sure you can do it,” he announced cheerfully. The teen bounced to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was… well, I wanted to ask about Dipper.”

“Pine Tree,” she corrected, immediately wary. “Of course. What about him?”

Ford rested an eager hand on Mabel’s shoulder, eyes boring into her own with an agonizing hope that she had lost somewhere, maybe on a school bus or in the attic room of the bare-boned Mystery Shack. “So, you saw him? He visited you? What did he look like back then? What did he want?” As he spoke, his grip grew tighter, until she was forced to pull away. 

“He… yeah. He visited me. It was odd, honestly, he -” Mabel laughed, and ruffled her hair. “I thought he was an angel at first. Or a ghost. His form seemed sort of unstable.”  _ Not unlike a certain someone, _ she thought, unnerved by the fervour in his eyes. “He offered me a deal.”

“A deal?” the man echoed. “You didn’t take it -”

“No, no, don’t worry about that. He offered to protect me if I switched sides.” Shrugging helplessly, she felt the prods of tears behind her eyes. “And hey, here I am.”

For a split second, a shadow of distrust fell over his eyes, eerily familiar to the look that would cloud Dipper from time to time. Mabel had always hated that age-old mantra of  _ trust no-one _ which had entered their lives that first summer, and it hit her rather suddenly that it was Ford himself who had introduced her brother to it. So many things did seem to be Ford’s fault; it took a concerted effort not to chastise him for his doubt.

Then the moment passed.

“It’s good to know that we have you,” he mumbled, turning aside. “And he’s a shade…”

“Yeah. A shade. Why, is there -?”

Before Mabel could finish, Stanley appeared in her doorway. His mouth drew into a frown at the distinctly downcast figure of his brother, entering the room and guiding Stanford out gently.

“C’mon now, let the girl alone.” Stan tried to smile warmly but the heat didn’t quite reach his eyes, gaze trailing after Ford, shoulders sagging. “Christ. Sorry about that. He gets so guilty, I don’t think he realizes  how depressing he’s being.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she huffed, rooting around in her suitcase for a half-finished ‘adult’ colouring book. “He’ll chill out given time. But yeah. Was there anything that you wanted?”

A sharp grunt sounded in response, blue trucker cap flying onto the bedspread to her side. Mabel blinked at the familiar tree printed on the front. It was unmistakably aged, the self same one that had sat upon her brother’s bedstead for several years, collecting dust and broken dreams. Naturally, it wasn’t  _ the _ original - that disintegrated from overuse when Dipper had been 14 - but it was as close as one got. 

“Why are you giving this to me?” she asked helplessly, edging away. “Wouldn’t it be safer with you?”

“Ah, probably.” Stan entered the room proper and sat on the edge of the bed, sinking into the mattress. “But you’ll appreciate it most. I’m not really the emotional type, as ya know, and Sixer just drives himself insane.”

Chuckling half-heartedly, Mabel twirled the cap on the point of her finger, trying not to smell the ancient dust and forest air. With a deft movement, she sent it dancing through the air to land on her bedside table.

***

“Please,  _ please, I have a family, my chil-” _

Crunching bone echoed throughout the empty street. Pine Tree wrinkled his nose and dropped the pistol, rolling his shoulders back. The dead man did not move. Goodness knew who he had been, or what his relevance was to anything - or anyone, beyond the wife and child he wouldn’t  _ fucking shut up about. _

“This  _ really _ didn’t relax me like you said it would,” Pine Tree grumbled to the air. He kicked the body. It stared up into the sky, eyes reflecting orange and red. Dried tears clumped in the man’s thick eyelashes.

Bill Cipher appeared almost immediately, unimpressed. Then he saw the forehead wound and giggled. “ _ Snap. _ He looks like you. Nice wound right where it matters!”

Pine Tree whipped around to glare at the triangle. “He looks like  _ Dipper _ .” The name was spat out, like a curse word, a bad taste in the mouth. “Besides, your suggestions thus far have been utter shit. Killing these people - well, it’s fun, but ‘relaxing’ isn’t how I’d describe it. If anything it makes me more anxious.”

“Don’t bother me about it, kid. Murder as catharsis is an acquired taste, obviously.” As if on cue, there was an impromptu flicker, and Pine Tree became Dipper for half a second. The brief look of terror was rather nicely placed with the momentary visual of bloodied hoodie and tear-stained cheeks. Bill rather thought that it was his favourite look. First killings always did have that  _ oomph _ he was famous for. 

To his sorrow, however, Pine Tree pulled his form back together almost instantaneously, cheeks flushing as he straightened his tie and corrected black lapels. “It’s this,” he mumbled. “It’s the shifting, I just know it. Whenever I become  _ him _ I get flashbacks of his personality and it’s… pathetic.”

“Calm it down, edgelord.” Bill giggled even more vibrantly as Pine Tree attempted to swat at his top hat. “Look, I’ll fix it. Swear it on my collection of baby heads. If you quit being so moody, then it’s a win-win, right?” 

“I am  _ not _ an edgelord,” was the only response, but the shade was grinning.

***

_ While the effects in the sky have decreased significantly in the past week, scientists are theorising that the number of rifts will increase exponentially throughout the coming months. Reports have been filed of further instances of the sky falling, as well as of sightings of ‘Pine Tree’, who has been said to have been committing entirely random acts of violence, occasionally joined by the yellow triangle dubbed ‘Illuminati Dorito’ by the internet. A more serious name of ‘All Seeing Eye’ has been chosen by others, but if you want to see edits of the ‘Illuminati Dorito’ with flower crowns, then there are several tumblr blogs already up and running. Even more worryingly, he has been dubbed ‘hella hot’. _

_ I’ll leave my listeners to discover the interesting artwork of ‘Pine Tree’ and the human form of the triangle - the romantic fiction is especially imaginative. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LATE I'M SORRY. My exams are still not over (why oh why do I study Politics), but I hope to get on top of all of this stuff soon. Many thanks to the wonderful Disney_Muse for beta-ing this chapter so thoroughly. You should absolutely check out their Reverse Falls fanfiction. It's a rather unique take on the AU!
> 
> SONG: [Everybody's Changing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zx4Hjq6KwO0) by Keane


	4. Crossbows

Mabel felt her sheets crackle around her ankles as she awoke, grumbling loudly. 

It had been three days since her arrival at the bunker, and the bare bones of scaffolding were beginning to structure her life. Her iphone would chirrup incessantly into her ear at 8am, until she finally stopped snoozing it and slowly blinked back to life. It was a good thing that the phone had a glass touchscreen. She wasn’t tempted to throw it across the room. 

Wendy - designated as some form of morale booster - knocked on the door and checked that her friend was awake. “Doing okay, lazybones?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Mabel croaked, swinging her feet onto the small rug by her bed. “Good-morning to you too.”

Following that wake up call, she would wander into the dining hall, waving Pacifica over to eat with her parents. As of yet the Northwest hadn’t quite accepted that she was welcome with the other families; there was some enmity from the more unforgiving residents, but Marie and Tom had no grudges to bear. They ate in companionable silence.

A few of the families refused to look at  _ Mabel _ , never mind Pacifica. Relatives of the dead, they were, those who remembered the damage that her twin had done to the town and who still couldn’t bring themselves to trust the Pines completely. It probably wouldn’t do any good to talk to them just yet - as much as her natural inclination was normally to confront a problem like this - not with a fresh apocalypse in everyone’s minds and Dipper in everyone’s memories.

Did they think that she would end up like him?

There was a definite fear in the air, and a sense of loss which it would take a while to shake. Mabel was sad about the end of the world, of course, but she had been warned. There’d been months for her to wrap her head around the idea, all the while trying to mourn for a brother who was… alive? In a way? Too many emotions, too many conflicting memories, a sense of abandonment and betrayal mixed in with  _ missing Dipper so much… _

Mabel tried not to think about it. It was too confusing to unravel the ideas and the emotions just yet.

Grenda threw her tray onto the table with a heavy THUMP, looking even more exhausted than the rest of them. Candy’s greeting was rather more timid. “Hello, everybody. How are we all doing today?”

“Bloody tired,” Pacifica replied, hair in a messy bun and pyjamas veritably hanging from her slender figure. “Getting used to it, though. I miss my old bathroom.”

“You lived in a mansion,” Mabel chuckled. “I’m surprised you can cope with this.”

“Pff, I spent enough time in that disgusting shack of yours to get used to the commoner’s life.” Digging her elbow into Mabel’s side, Pacifica winked. “Kidding. The Mystery Shack wasn’t so bad, once you got past the creepy exhibits and the old man smell. Plus your bed was comfy.”

Several sets of eyes turned to stare, and Mabel coloured immediately. 

Pacifica stared back. “What? It wasn’t like I was gonna sleep in the  _ other _ bed.”

Dipper’s old belongings remained untouched, as per an unwritten rule in the Pines’ household. Mabel had struggled to sleep in the attic room as it was. 

Marie turned back to her breakfast with a simple shrug, Tom looking confused. “Do girls share beds? Is that a girl thing?”

“Do guys not?” 

“... no?” Tom replied, staring at his wife with a suspicious steadiness. “I mean, I’m sure some do, but -”

Marie waggled her eyebrows and grinned, amused by the discreet embarrassment of her husband. “I know about your old boyfriends,” she giggled. “I’m not annoyed by it.”

“I know, just - not at the breakfast table, honey -”

Mabel wasn’t really listening, having zoned out a few minutes ago. In her head she was gambolling the open fields around the ‘Falls, a few years younger, listening to the shouts and laughter of her brother as they went searching for a new monster. He’d been on the lookout for a wild eyebat, having just obtained the Journal a few weeks before. Spying something in the distance, he called out to her. “Mabel! Over here!”

“Mabel!”

“ _ Mabel _ -”

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she looked up to find five pairs of eyes staring at her, all with varying levels of concern. Pacifica was holding her arm. “Mabel, I swear to god, you’re so dozy sometimes.”

“Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly. “Daydreaming.”

***

“Did you send them something to play with?”

Pine Tree was resting listlessly in the throne room, surveying the empty space with something that touched on bored hysteria. Looking up from his crossword, Bill squinted, only sparing a glance before he turned the paper on its head and wrote his answer in demonic script. “Ages ago, PT. Thought you’d be watching.”

“ _ Watching _ isn’t any fun. It doesn’t satiate anything!” 

Bill stared. “Whoa. You’re really not feelin’ this whole sitting around thing, are ya?”

Pine Tree groaned. 

***

The first monster emerged from the forest.

Ford knew about it before it knew about Ford; this was a small mercy, given its completely unknown nature. At first it was just a blip on a scanner, a pixel in the distance. Then -

“Stanley. Get here.”

Stan stopped tinkering with his construction pieces and paced over to his brother, blinking at the wealth of screens that they had plastered the back wall with. “Where am I lookin’?” Ford pointed at a figure on the top left screen, and Stanley paled. 

“It seems that Bill isn’t content with destroying the skies,” Stanford muttered, watching the monster’s approach with some trepidation. “He needs to send in ground troops.”

“We got an armory, but -” Stan crossed his arms. “Heh. Why am I worryin’? We’re gonna have to face the bastard whether we like it or not. Who will we send?”

“I think you know,” Ford replied meaningfully.  

“The kids?” Stan huffed, and turned away. “Geez, I dunno… They ain’t exactly war-ready. I know Mabel’s got a tough streak the length of my arm but I can’t shove the Northwest into this. Wendy, maybe.”

“They have to learn, and quickly.” Ford was already drawing up plans, pencilling names and weapons onto a post-it note. Catching the awkward stance of his brother in the corner of his eye he sighed, turning to catch Stan’s arm comfortingly. “Gravity Falls has some of the best kids around. Right?”

A flash of hurt caught behind Stan’s taut frown. “We do. ‘Course.” 

“...Stanley?” Ford glanced at the screens, threatening figure approaching the outside cameras with a vengeance in its gait. “This isn’t about…”

“Send ‘em,” Stan grumbled. “I’ll call ‘em up. Where’s the intercom?”

Brushing off his brother’s touch, Stan stalked over to a nearby table set out with a microphone and headset, turning two dials quickly and pulling the mic close. He jabbed at a tempting red button and coughed. “Could Mabel Pines, Pacifica Northwest and Wendy Corduroy report to the firs’ floor please? Dress for the outdoors.”

***

“Already?”

Pacifica was waiting outside of Mabel’s room, lounging against the cold stone wall with a faint grimace. “We literally just got in here,” she griped, checking her nails. “And they want us to go outside?”

“You’ll just have to trust them,” Mabel called, slightly muffled. “Hang on-”

Locking the door behind her, she stretched, pleased with the tough combat trousers that she’d prepared. They were a little drab, of course, and not really the true ‘Mabel’ style that she’d carefully produced. Pacifica was in something similar, a very practical yet impossibly good-looking jacket with black cargo trousers, easy to move in. With her hair tied back it looked… good.

“Rocking that,” Mabel said, mouth oddly dry.

“Thanks babe,” Pacifica replied, winking slightly. “C’mon. I want to see what the hell your great uncles have up there.”

As it happened, the collection of equipment and technology wasn’t impressive enough for the Northwest, save for the surveillance wall. Tapping at the sizeable screens, she hummed, and winked again. Wendy had arrived and was considering the rare ammunitions box with a worryingly lustful eye. 

Mabel recognised most of it, to her surprise. It was generally furniture and items lifted directly from Ford’s study. His favourite work desk was sitting idle in the corner of the room, covered in scrawling blueprints and notations, as a bottle of something unholy bubbled on a nearby ledge. The middle of the floor was carpeted in faded red; she removed her shoes, soles grateful for the shift from hard concrete to something soft at last. Even the beaten up computer consoles were present, albeit covered by several moth-eaten white sheets.

“Girls,” Stan greeted, with fake cheer. “Good to see ya. Could you come over to the monitors please?”

The last to take her place, Mabel stared up at the glare of the screens and hummed. “Where’s Ford?”

“Jus’ getting something,” Stanley said, evasively. “He’ll be up soon.”

“So… what can these babies do?” Wendy fiddled with a dial and watched one screen burst into static. “Do you get the Disney Channel or what?”

“That might be preferable, kid.” Stepping to the remote control waiting on the side, Stan began to tap at the buttons methodically. “Theoretically, it should be able to hack into jus’ about any security camera usin’ similar technology. A lot are broken already, of course, and the news is more useful most of the time, but -” he shuffled his old wifebeater uncomfortably. “I can show you the clearest feed, if you want.”

“Go for it,” Pacifica declared. “Where is it?”

“Portland. Soos has been maintaining it. ‘S not pretty, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

A screech filled the room, making the girls wince and cover their ears, older Pines barely moving. Every screen flickered from the internal surveillance footage to a slightly grainy image, casting orange light across their faces. 

“Well, fuck.” Wendy suddenly appeared a lot less cocky than usual. “That’s bad.”

What Mabel knew of Portland was that it was generally quite built up, with plenty of multi-storey buildings reaching into the sky. Most of these were gone. The desperate wails of ambulances were trying to battle the roar of the fires; a majority of the road that the camera overlooked was covered in shattered glass or debris. It had been days,  _ days _ since Mabel had left home, and yet the situation outside of her personal life had worsened significantly. 

Everything felt sufficiently apocalyptic, at least. Bill was trying his hardest to make it a realistic experience.

A scream sounded from the speakers and Stan immediately cut it off, shifting to the far less dramatic image of Manly Dan bench pressing a dining table. “Let’s not find out what that noise was,” Stan chuckled, nervously. There was a  _ ding! _ behind them and he smiled. 

Ford was laden with weaponry. 

Dropping guns and kevlar vests onto an open table, he pushed aside a collection of semi-magical items, one crystal ball rolling dangerously close to the ledge. Mabel ran to catch it - while initially clouded, a bright golden eye burst out of the fog. She shivered, and handed it to Pacifica, who looked closely and smirked. 

“Good to see you here so promptly,” Stanford huffed, rubbing at his aching arms. “I don’t think you’ll be enthralled with the news, however, so you may want to take a seat.”

“What’s up, Mr P?” Wendy pulled a chair out from under the table and draped herself over it - Mabel recognised it as one of the old kitchen chairs. 

Amusingly, Ford had never quite gotten used to Wendy’s teenage mannerisms and he blinked at her owlishly. “What’s ‘up’, as you say, is that the situation here may be a little more serious than we initially hoped. Stanley, if you would -”

One compliant set of  _ clicks _ later and the group were staring at the collection of screens, Mabel tucked tightly into her seat. While the creature in the distance wasn’t particularly visible, it was certainly recognisable as the kind of being that even Dipper would have avoided. She turned to look at Pacifica and felt her heart jump at the sight of her regal features softened by the earthy light of the visual display.

“This is the next wave of Cipher’s grab for world domination,” Stanford continued. “They had been seen elsewhere, but they had obviously been in some form of prototype stage. We don’t know how strong they are, how easily they can be killed, what they are made from or how exactly they are programmed to work.”

“So you’re sending us.” It wasn’t a question, and Pacifica spared a worried glance at Mabel. “To do - what? Gather intel?”

“We were kinda hopin’ you’d kill it,” Stan replied, before Ford had the chance to butt in. 

For a second, it looked as though Pacifica was going to argue; then she leaned back in her seat, shrugging. “Given the armoury we have, I anticipated as much. If I die, I’ll be pissed.”

“Atta girl.” Stanley grinned with pride. He and Ford had been absolutely formative in changing Pacifica into the open-minded, cool-headed woman that she was now. From rich brat to honorary Pines, she was certainly as much their success story as Mabel’s. “You won’t die. There’s a reason we asked for you three. Wendy’s got the strength, Mabel’s got the sensibility, and Pacifica’s good with strategy.”

“You’re basing that on  _ Monopoly _ ,” Pacifica reminded him.

Stanley blinked. “Ya beat me kid, when I was cheatin’.  _ Nobody _ beats me at Monopoly. Not even brainiac over here.”

“It’s true.” Ford was wearing a resigned smile. “In any case, time is of the essence.”

Spreading out the collection of guns, Ford began to point out the variance between the types. Some were shotguns, weighty and unwieldy, and Mabel wrote that off just looking at them. Nobody besides Stan or Ford could have properly used one of those, least of all her. The more traditional rifles also looked daunting. Taking up a suitably stereotypical sub-machine gun, she tested the weight. 

Beside her, Wendy was testing the swing of an axe, sending it crashing down into the wood of the table. Thankfully the table didn’t break; she only left a sizeable gash in the side. 

“I rather guess you’d take that one,” Stanford sighed, voice quavering slightly. “But please don’t test it on the furniture.”

“Sorry Mr P. Guess that’s just a Corduroy thing.” 

Pacifica had copied Mabel and had taken the same gun, but with an attractive design along the sides. Seeing their confusion, Stan jumped to help them with the vests, ignoring Pacifica’s quiet mutter about ‘ruining her aesthetic’. Wendy turned hers down. “Nah man,” she said, plucking at her aged flannel. “I fight free. Sturdy shirt and a nice axe and I’m set.” 

“Don’t you feel like we should be making more of a fuss about this?” Mabel whispered to Pacifica.

“Nah,” the girl whispered back. “It’s one monster. We’ve fought worse in the past, right?”

“I guess.”

Speaking up, Pacifica stepped forward, confident. “Right. Seeing as we outnumber it, we have a definite advantage here. Should be easy. Mabel and I can take it from the front, then Wendy can take it down from behind when it’s distracted.”

“Simple.” Ford clapped his hands. “Hope you’re feeling ready!”

***

Mabel really did not feel ready for this. At all.

Clutching her gun to her chest, she waited, Pacifica at her side. A significant rockface hid their location. The other girl was breathing deeply and regularly, gun poised neatly towards their enemy, slight beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead in the noonday heat. Orange light poured from the rift and from the extensive cracks littering the sky. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone, fire and something bordering on sulphur, eerily silent with the dearth of people inhabiting the town. 

Hidden behind a tree just across from them, Wendy crouched eagerly, muscles taut as she tested her axe with small swings. Each one gave a small  _ whoosh _ of sound that made Mabel jumpy, finger resting loosely on the trigger of her own weapon. 

To think that Bill had probably sent this on purpose, as a little taster, was horrifying. As though the end times weren’t enough... Then Mabel remembered the way that the leading figures of the world had been mercilessly slaughtered and she shuddered. This wasn’t just a coup, this was playing games with the survivors. A part of her rather hoped that Pine Tree hadn’t been a part of this.

Finally, the beast came closer, figure no longer obscured. 

Pacifica wrinkled her nose. “ _ Gross, _ ” she whispered.  _ “Going for the ‘ew’ factor here, huh?” _

It was unpleasant to behold. Vaguely humanoid, the monster was easily 6 feet tall, face a mess of teeth and saliva that left a lengthy trail of drool behind it as it went. The torso was hunched, with two elongated and sickly pale arms sprouting from sloped shoulders, fingers ending in tapered claws. One of its legs was noticeably longer than the other; it hobbled along with no apparent pain. Ribs pushed in a haphazard mess from beneath thinning skin.

Chaos, was what it was, and a fine work from Bill Cipher. Mabel found herself both repulsed and more than a little sorry for it. 

_ “Where are its eyes?”  _ Pacifica hissed.

“ _ Uses its tongue _ ,” Wendy mouthed.  _ “Look.” _

Amidst the mess of teeth protruded a dark, glistening tongue, extending to a foot. It licked at the air and stalled. 

“ _ Fuck.” _ Pacifica readied her gun, visibly trying not to gag at its unnatural appearance.  _ “How many hits do you think it’ll need before it goes down?” _

_ “Hopefully not many,”  _ Mabel replied.  _ “I’d rather not have it suffer any more.” _

_ “Suffer?” _

_ “Look at it, it’s horribly malformed.”  _ The brunette copied Pacifica’s stance, staring down the creature with her gun sight.  _ “I don’t doubt that it’s in agony. _ ”

When she turned to look, Pacifica was gazing at her with an odd expression that Mabel couldn’t quite read. “ _ Only you could empathise with that,”  _ she replied, shaking her head and smiling wryly. 

Wendy hissed a warning and gestured to the trees behind the creature, immediately springing behind the trunks of each tree and keeping her body tight. Pacifica grinned, eyes thinning, and sprung up atop the rock that they’d been crouched behind, and opened fire. 

The monster, which had been tentatively smelling them, roared and sprung.

Thankfully, the energy of the bullets piercing its torso pushed it back, but even the significant pool of thick crimson gathering on the forest floor was not a significant drawback. Pulling onto its haunches it hissed, teeth gaping wide to reveal the veritable chasm behind them and the curling tongue; Pacifica gagged.  _ “Could do with some help here!”  _ she grumbled, sparing a glance at Mabel.

Nervously moving to the edge of the rock, Mabel peered out, finger pressed to the trigger. Stan’s lessons would finally come in handy. Trying not to think about the fact that they were actually killing something, she pushed down, wincing at the recoil and the way that the bullets ripped through its torso -

_ Dipper, lying faceup in the grass, hole through his head - _

Mabel gasped, fell back and shook, eyes wide -

_ Had Ford felt the same sting in his hand, the same pragmatism and regret? He’d stood there like a stone and his eyes had been so foreign - _

Pacifica suddenly looked very afraid, watching as Wendy sprang from behind and swung her axe with a battle cry. 

_ Stanley held him close, sobbing and staining his clothing - clothing he would later burn. Dipper had been so limp, so still, the same way he had been every time they’d carried him in from the forest when a hunt had gone too far - _

Wendy beheaded the monster in one fell blow. 

It slumped to the ground, head rolling into the trees and finally coming to rest amidst the undergrowth. Instead of taking pride in her kill, however, Wendy ran to Mabel, who was already being tended to by Pacifica. 

“What’s wrong?” the blonde was asking, holding Mabel’s hand tightly. “Just - just breathe, we can get you back to the bunker. You have to be okay, you hear that, loser?”

Mabel’s breaths wouldn’t regulate themselves, running ragged and harsh. Something - she had  _ felt _ the nighttime breeze, seen it all as she had done a million times since that night, but it had never been so sharp or so real. “It’s dead, right?” she managed to ask, weakly. 

“Dead,” Wendy assured her, uncharacteristically gentle. “Good news for us, they don’t seem to be much tougher than humans.” When Mabel flinched at that, the older girl frowned, concerned. 

The doors of the bunker opened somewhere in the distance and Stan came pelting out, possessed by a shocking determination. “Mabel!” he cried, sinking his arms beneath her torso and pulling her up with surprising strength. “Honey, what happened? We were watchin’ on the cams and -”

“I’m fine,” she muttered dishonestly. “Just the - it reminded me of -” 

_ “No -” her own voice barely reached her ears, fear pounding in a deafening chorus. “NO!” _

“Dipper,” she finished lamely. 

Stanley blinked at her, and then sighed. “ _ Guns. _ I’m stupid. I’m so sorry, honey, didn’t really think -”

Shaking her head, she patted at his arms, and pushed into his chest as they made their way towards the bunker once more. He still smelled of the Mystery Shack, to her painful delight, that odd mix of dust, wood, sweat and curiosity. It had clung to her clothes at the end of every summer holiday. It was the same smell that was forcibly ingrained into the old blue pine cap sat on the end of her bed. 

Marie was waiting at the door when they arrived. “Honey? Are you okay? I had no idea that  _ this _ was what they were sending you to do, and when we saw you fall -”

“Mom, I’ll be okay.” Pushing out of Stan’s arms, Mabel folded her mother into a hug. “No resteroni in pepperoni for me!”

“I don’t know what that means, but good. Now come on down - Pacifica, you too - the others want to see you. Everyone was watching on the big screen, it was very dramatic.”

“Watching…” 

Ford pushed past them suddenly, holding a large crate. He paused, halfway out the doorway. “Wendy! Please put the head  _ down!” _

***

Dawdling outside of the armory, Mabel had her vest slung over one arm, gun resting against the door. The veritable flood of people who had rushed to check on her after the fight was ridiculous - if she could even call it that. She’d hardly helped much. 

A few bullets in a monster and she’d been on the floor. Sure, Mabel knew that she was something of a sensitive soul, but it hadn’t bothered her  _ massively _ . Just -

It had reminded her of Dipper, pure and simple, and that was enough to be a significant problem. Unlike most people, she’d had a year to mourn him already. She should have been over it. She should have -

Stan appeared in the corridor, covered in blood. “My brother,” he announced, “is an awful know-it-all. Let me get that stuff for you two, then.”

“We could have done it ourselves,” Pacifica grumbled, watching the elderly man punch in the pin code and carry the equipment inside.

“Yeah, but we feel bad. Ford and me, that is.” Checking the vests over, he rested in the doorway, considering Mabel. “So, it was the guns that upset you, right?”

She nodded.

Clicking one finger in delight, Stan nodded his head. “I got it. Hang on -” he disappeared round the door for a minute, returning with an aged crossbow in his arms. “This is yours anyway, kiddo. This shouldn’t have the same effect, and if I remember rightly, you were a little devil with this thing. No problems?”

“Hopefully not,” she replied, grinning widely. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan! It’s been so long since I’ve held this baby in my arms.” Washed with nostalgia, Mabel rubbed the crossbow against her cheek, miraculously avoiding getting any splinters. Stan just laughed and shut the armory door, ruffling her hair and walking out - probably to help Ford with the monster corpse.

Pacifica stared momentarily, then sighed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile like that in years.”

She left Mabel to ponder that thought, tracing the lines in the wood of her weapon.

***

_ The number of safe houses has thankfully increased! If you are listening and are not resting in one of the main bunkers, consider travelling to one of these locations. We do not have any info on areas outside of the US! So, consider Portland, Chicago, Washington DC, Cleveland, or Greensboro. Other, smaller refuges are available in most cities. It is true that there is a sizeable bunker in Gravity Falls itself - but who’s gonna go there, right? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA. OH BOY, IS THIS LATE. I'm so sorry, life just... keeps happening in the worst ways. But I'm still alive! And this story is going to get written. The alternate endings are slowly getting churned out (very slowly, but it's happening at least) and it's been a joy to hear from some of my readers again. 
> 
> SONG: [ You Haunt Me by Sir Sly](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0E5aWv0YdA)


	5. Another

From the pyramid, one could see for a very long way.

The curvature of the mountains contrasted fittingly with the burnt umber of the skies, clouds, and shards of blue dotting the horizon where the transition from one world to another was not yet finished. During the first few days, there had been a significant strip of cobalt. Now it was relegated to the occasional fleck of colour amidst the orange. Almost complete.

A few horrorterrors dangled tentacles in from time to time, tasting the air, licking at the heat. It wasn’t ready just yet; they shivered in anticipation.

Finally, the magic of the earth was being released. It was being changed. White and green twisted and screamed as it turned to a bright, bright blue.

“PT, I’ve been thinking.”  
  
“That’s new.” Pine Tree turned around, resting easily upon the balcony he had been surveying the landscape from. Three new forest fires had taken light in the past hour and he enjoyed the yellow light flaring up from the darkness. “What’s up, then?”

Bill flew out, hovering by the shade’s side. “I’m the nickname guy. Always have been. But now, kid, your nickname _is_ your name, so I need a new one. Ya dig?”

“Okay?” Bemused, Pine Tree tapped at his chin. “Sure. What were you thinking?”

Glowing jubilantly, Bill stretched his arms out. “ _Lazarus!_ It’s perfect for ya!”

Pine Tree stared. “I think I’m missing something.”

Coming to rest on the ledge, Bill swung his feet, audibly put out. “You never heard of Lazarus? Of all the stories, PT, I’d expect ya to know this one. Did ya not do Bible studies?”  When the shade shook his head, Bill cackled. “Fine then. Read up.”

A Bible landed in Pine Tree’s outstretched arms and he quirked a doubtful eyebrow, turning to the Gospel of John as directed by Bill. As he read he became more and more amused, outright hysterical by the end of the verse. Bill took offence at this, snatching the book away. “What? What is it?”

“The idea of _you_ as Jesus - that would make so many humans mad. But I like it.”

Bill beamed. “Okay then, Lazarus, do you wanna come and deal with the Time Police with me?”

Casting a disbelieving look at the demon, Pine Tree leaned over the handrail excessively and groaned. “Oh gods, not _them_.”

It only took a second to teleport to the entrance, Pine Tree’s lips pulled into an unimpressed line. There was a resounding _THUMP THUMP THUMP_ on what served as the front door, followed by an authoritative yell of “OPEN UP. THIS IS THE TIME POLICE!”

Rolling his eye in amusement, Bill opened the door with a flick of his hand, watching Time Baby and a flock of Time Agents run into the main hall urgently. A few blinked in surprise at how empty it was; one agent stood on tip-toe to search for any further inhabitants. The dream demon floated up to his throne and lounged in it, looking thoroughly bored.

One agent stepped forward from the throng and cleared his throat. “Bill Cipher and…”

“Pine Tree,” Pine Tree offered, helpfully.

“Bill Cipher and Pine Tree, you are both in violation of the rules of space-time. Your current actions have the potential to destroy this dimension, as well as producing an unlawful fixed time event. How do you plead?”

With a snort, Pine Tree went to sit on the steps below Bill, swinging one leg over the other. “Totally guilty.”

Bill waved his arm in agreement. “Completely.”

The agent looked rather lost, apparently anticipating something more of an argument. Time Baby scowled. “Cipher. You and your little servant are vastly overstepping the boundaries of your importance. Do you really think that this is an appropriate action, considering your position? You are a known fugitive, wanted for the framing of one Stanford Pines.” Studying Pine Tree closely, he hummed. “And you. You think you have the right to address the Time Police?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Pine Tree asked, standing indignantly. “I fought in your coliseum as a child, and I won!”

“Lies!” Time Baby announced, shaking his rattle furiously. “You are a Shade. You had no childhood!”

Agent Lolph coughed, and leaned in towards his leader. “Actually, the shade is telling the truth. He used to be a human called _Dipper Pines._ ” Ignoring the hiss of anger that Pine Tree gave, the agent brought up a visual of a small boy wearing a dark blue vest and a garish orange shirt. “This is how he looked when we captured him last.”

“That is _not_ who I am,” the shade hissed, flickering dangerously. For a second he resembled the hologram perfectly; blushing, he returned to his normal form and tugged at his tie.

“Ha! You can’t even build a simple slave correctly, Cipher!” Time Baby clapped his hands in glee. “A pathetic opponent!”

“I am _not_ a slave!” Pine Tree cried. “I’m his equal!”

“Is that what he told you?” Lolph laughed. “It seems that Dipper Pines was an idiot if he trusted _Bill Cipher_ of all beings. We’ve been following this demon for centuries. The concept of ‘equal’ is probably beyond him.”

“Gimme some credit,” the demon drawled. “I teamed up with a human in the first place. Think you’re painting me from a biased _angle_ . It’s _acute_ attempt to smear me in front of my own shade, but you’re kinda lacking a _point_ to it. What’s it gonna do?”

“Removing assistance may seem a futile attempt when said assistance is so weak, but a Bill Cipher without friends is the kind I prefer.” Time Baby glared at Pine Tree. “Do you truly believe that this hedonistic triangle would even tell you the truth? Wait.” He leaned in towards Lolph. “It is a triangle, right?”

“Yes,” Lolph sighed. “Well done, your excellency.”

Time Baby clapped his hands in even greater glee. “Yes! The _triangle_ has a lot to answer for, and we may be kind to you if you hand yourself over, slave. Shades are hardly our biggest concern.”

“Call me by my name or by nothing at all,” Pine Tree hissed.

“Leave your Master’s side or face the consequences!” Lolph tapped his foot against the smooth flooring.

Spinning round, Pine Tree narrowed his eyes. Bill was watching with something bordering amusement. “What’s up, kid?”

“Permission to deal with them, oh _Master_ of mine?” The words dripped with sarcasm, but the demon simply cackled.

“Sure thing, Laz.”

Pointing two fingers in the mockery of a pistol, Pine Tree leveled his hand towards the Time Police, pooling magic with violent determination. “Arrest me for this,” he hissed, squaring up. “ _Bang.”_

The burst of light that shot at them was almost blinding  

In seconds, the entire crew was completely destroyed, disintegrating into a fine white mist which slowly drifted to the floor. Pine Tree looked a touch shocked; he stared at his hand with a mixture of delight and disbelief. “That sure worked.” Then he observed the mess on the floor and huffed. “Ugh. Better clean that up.”

Bill’s hand stalled Pine Tree, pulling him up to the throne. “Look, kid…”

“Yes?” Pine Tree sighed. “Look, whatever they said, it doesn’t matter. Just a bunch of annoying prigs.”

“Pssh, who cares about them?” Bill spoke carefully, wiping the dust from the floor with a careless wave of his hands. “What I’m sayin’ is that I think I can fix you up. Much as Time Baby is a total bore, he has a point - if we’re gonna make an impression, we need ya stable. And I think I’ve got it.”

Immediately brightening, the shade sat at Bill’s feet, resting his head against the throne. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, kid. Plus, I have to deal with your mood swings, and there’s only so much that I can call ya edgy.”

***

One monster was not a problem, it seemed, but the sudden hordes were less pleasant.

After the last fight, Mabel and Pacifica had been benched for a few days, leaving them to watch the others battle and wander the bunker idly. Among those not fighting were the elderly, younger parents, and teenagers under 18. As such, Angelo’s group were often seen hogging the gaming machine and trying to look far less bored than they were.

“Take _that!_ ” Egg cried, slamming one of the levers so forcefully that it almost rammed through the glass cabinet. “See? I _can_ play this. I’m at 10000 points!”

Evelyn looked closely and shook her head. “No, you’re only at 1000. That’s not a zero, it’s a spaceship.”

The group burst into action, chiding the poor boy for his misreading. Watching from the sidelines, Mabel caught Pacifica’s eye and smiled. Pacifica punted a ball into the socket of the pool table. “Your turn, loser.”

“Kay.” Picking up her pool cue, Mabel lined it up with the white ball and considered her options. Neither she nor Paz actually knew how to play pool - at all - so they’d simply made it a game of ‘who can get the most balls into the pockets’. With some trickery, Mabel was winning. A red sat enticingly beside one of the holes and she knocked it in with little effort. “6-4 to me.”

“Can I even win?” Dusting her cue unnecessarily, the Northwest eyed a lazy blue and hummed. There was a burst of noise behind them - Egg had finally died in a spectacular manner, and Lucy grabbed the controls. “Hmph. Wendy might have a point.”

“They’re harmless enough,” Mabel replied, quietly. “Now, make your move, Miss Northwest.”

“Just watch me, babe.” With a sharp movement, Pacifica shot the white pool ball towards the edge of the pool table, smirking as it knocked the green into the pocket and pushed the blue off course.

“Damn you,” Mabel muttered, ruefully. “I was setting that up on purpose.”

“I know.”

Considering her tactics again, Mabel circled the table, pausing as she reached her friend. Pacifica leaned down, breath tickling Mabel’s ear. “ _That one is watching us,”_ she whispered.

Angelo was certainly staring, their eyes narrowed in distrust. Upon realising that they’d been noticed, Angelo turned quickly to the arcade cabinet and immediately began insulting Lucy’s playing style.

“ _What do you think they want?”_ Mabel asked, curiously.

“ _Who knows.”_ Pacifica straightened her back. “Show me some of that Pines magic, then.”

Mabel managed to pot three of the balls in one very intelligent hit, smartly ricocheting them from the velveted table sides into three separate pockets. Stunned, Pacifica didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I - bite me, Pines.

“Movie and a dinner first, Paz. Gosh, didn’t your parents teach you about how to court a lady?”

Pacifica suddenly turned a delicate shade of crimson. “Well, no.”

Crap. Bad choice of words, evidently - the Northwests certainly fell into the ‘homophobes by nature’ kind of category, and Mabel wished she’d simply eaten her jumper instead of speaking. It would have created an uncomfortable silence with less of the awkward air. “In any case,” she finally said, with fake cheer. “I think the others will be back soon.”

“You’re right.” Dropping the cue on the table, Pacifica stretched out, back cracking. “Enough of this, we should go to the caf.”

As it happened, they didn’t even make it that far before Stanley was throwing kevlar vests their way, trying to balance bandages and medical salve in the crook of his left arm. “It’s fucking insane out there, kids. We need you up there, stat. Report to Corduroy.” With that he disappeared, bead of sweat running from underneath his hair.

“Nevermind that, then.” Mabel pulled the vest on and stretched. “My crossbow is at the entrance. You feeling ready?”

“Sure I do. Le’s go.”

Neither of them had anticipated what Stan had meant by ‘insane’. Wendy ran over the second they exited the bunker, hair plastered down by a cut on the side of her head. For the first time since Mabel had met her, she looked completely spent. “Yo,” she breathed, pausing to rest. “Shite. Okay. We’ve got twenty people out. The rest got sent back to their rooms.”

“Only twenty? But you look -”

Wendy shook her head. “Big groups of fighters proved a liability. We need small, and capable. You got that crossbow working, Mabes?”

Shaken, Mabel nodded, lifting the crossbow nervously. Pacifica gripped her gun; following Wendy’s lead, she tiptoed towards open ground. Mabel surveyed the forest around her as she went.

It was barely a forest anymore. The spines of age-old trees remained, but the inhospitable heat that had begun to pour from the cracks was killing the wildlife in the area without mercy. Leaves crackled underfoot, almost completely dried out. Orange light spilled over the dirt and the rocks until it looked more like a desert than what had once been a vibrant forest. Fissures threatened to trip her, pyramid casting a cloud of shadow.

Tears blurred her eyes. This was Gravity Falls, now. How could Pine Tree bear it?

Figures became apparent in the distance. Humans shot blazing rounds into a pale horde of monsters - they were very similar to the one she had seen the other day, only far less deformed and far more able. Somehow, Bill had managed to fit more teeth into the gaping mouths, blood dripping onto the dust and dirt. Was that a feature, or did it belong to some of her friends? Choosing not to think about it, she darted to the back of the small human task force.

“There are forty of them,” Wendy informed them, speaking in a low hush. “Or, there were. We’ve killed about fifteen.”

Mabel watched the monsters closely, allowing the other girls to join the fray. The creatures bunched up unnecessarily; while this meant that the fighters didn’t have to worry too much about getting attacked from behind, it made the ranks of the enemy difficult to break into. It had been a while since Mabel had fought anything properly - perhaps it was Bill, even, back when invading Stan’s mind had been a crazy pursuit. Bill…

She looked up to the pyramid. It was entirely still and plain against the vortex of horror above it. An X across the sky, a ‘treasure be here’ if you wanted monsters and agony.

Pine Tree had been built. These monsters had been built. In all likelihood, these monsters still wouldn’t be the final product, not with this kind of fighting style. They behaved like limited pack animals, grouping around the biggest and the strongest. If they could only taste -

Grinning, Mabel ran to the bunker door.

Wendy and Pacifica watched with some confusion as they stepped back, chests heaving. Only one more kill had been achieved. “Where _is_ Mabel going?” Wendy asked, audibly frustrated. “I mean, I get it if this triggers her memories, but I’d appreciate a warning.”

Staring over her shoulder, Pacifica shrugged, loosening a few bullets into a monster’s chest. It finally fell, smacking the dirt up from the ground, and was immediately trampled over by another. “13 left,” she murmured. “Not a problem.”

***

Much as Wendy had done with the first fight, Mabel found herself creeping around the back of the horde, clutching a round, cold weight in her hand. Withered outcrops of brush provided some cover as she watched Pacifica take down the closest enemy.

When it was somebody else doing the shooting, it was far easier to separate the current situation from the _other_ death. Her crossbow sat comfortingly on her back. It would all be okay if she could aim this right.

Peeking out, she managed to catch Wendy’s eye.

Wendy gave her a _WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?_ gesture.

Mabel grinned and showed her the weapon in her hand.

Wendy shrugged.

Mabel motioned for the rest of the fighters to fall back, which they did.

Immediately pulling the pin on the grenade (which Stanley had taught her to do in the quickest arms lesson ever), she pulled her arm back as far as she could and lobbed the explosive towards the horde. It was lost among a forest of slender pale limbs. Her breathing was suddenly far too loud in her ears.

Thankfully, there was a roar of sound.

The resulting explosion threw at least 5 monsters into the air, pushing even more to the ground and spreading debris across the land. Bits of an arm landed close to Mabel’s position and she winced - her hiding place couldn’t be more than 20 metres away. Once the dust had cleared, only 6  or 7 were still standing, generally missing a limb or sporting violent cuts. It took a few minutes to mow them down.

Confident in her safety, Mabel walked out to the pile of corpses, watching Wendy do the same. They stood in silence. One monster gurgled and Wendy immediately shot it.

“That was certainly effective,” the redhead eventually mused. “Throw could’ve been better. But grenades aren’t ideal for this.”

“It did the job!” Mabel sounded more defensive than she meant to and winced.

“Do you know the blast radius of a grenade?”

Admittedly, Mabel did not, so she shook her head.

“Grenade like that? 15 metres, perhaps, to say nothin’ of debris. With a group like that, it’s okay, because they soften the explosion and it doesn’t get too close to us. But if anyone had been too close…”

“Shit,” Mabel mumbled. “I never thought -”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Wendy laughed. “Nobody was hurt, and now you know. Only use ‘em when you know it’s not gonna hit anybody. That’s all. It was a smart move, though.” She ruffled Mabel’s hair. “You’ve got some of your br-uncle’s smarts up there. A bit of Stanley 1 and 2.”

“Ford won’t like you calling him that.”

“He deals with it.”

True to Wendy’s word, both Stan and Ford watched Mabel with pride as she entered. Stanley took her crossbow and loaded onto a nearby weapon’s rack, as Ford jostled her towards the elevators.

“Please don’t say everybody was watching that,” Mabel begged.

“Of course they were,” he replied. “Northwest is already down there. I’m sure your parents will be delighted.”

The people in the cafeteria didn’t cheer as she entered, but she could feel the approval in their close gazes and hidden smiles. Manly Dan nodded in her direction. Tad Strange offered a perfectly normal thumbs up, both thumbs elevated at the exact same level. Mayor Cutebiker whispered a quiet _‘get it’_ as she walked past.

Marie and Tom bustled her back to their table, Tom hugging her closely. “We’re so glad you’re okay.”

“Of course I’m okay,” Mabel huffed, rolling her eyes. “Di - Pine Tree is terrible at designing those things. It’s not much of a fight.” Idly, she looked over at Pacifica, who was trying desperately to get Grenda to share some of her blusher. It didn’t seem to be going well.

“It’s still worrying,” Marie hummed, pushing a plate of spam towards her daughter. “We just stay back with the bandages most of the time.”

“Lovers, not fighters.” Patting fondly at a half-finished knitting project on the table, Tom grinned. “Not to say we aren’t proud of you. You’re a smart one.”

Preoccupied with her scant meal, Mabel merely nodded, watching disheartened as Pacifica walked towards the lifts. As she was about to disappear behind the wall the girl suddenly stopped, blinking at an unseen figure. Mabel craned to look.

Pacifica stepped back and turned, catching Mabel’s eye. She said something to - Angelo, it seemed, who was hanging back nervously. Waving for Mabel to follow discreetly, Pacifica and Angelo exited the dining hall, walking towards the elevators. Mabel traced their journey; jumping into the lift at the last moment, she caught Pacifica’s gaze.

“Dorms,” Pacifica said, simply, and Angelo jabbed a button.

They descended in silence. They exited the elevator in silence. Pacifica immediately disappeared round a corner, footsteps dripping agonisingly.

Angelo looked steadily into Mabel’s eyes. “You’re his twin sister.”

She nodded. “Yeah. That’s - that’s me.” Attempting a smile, she looked discreetly for Pacifica. Where was she?

“You loved Dipper. Why should we trust you?” They’d suddenly grown far more vitriolic, fists balled in anger. “Why should we believe that you are on our side?”

“Whoa, whoa! It’s okay, I mean - I understand your worry, but I love my parents and my grunkles too! I would _never_ work for Bill. The triangle.” Sensing something was amiss, she nibbled at her lip. “Why are you so worried about that? By the same logic, any of my brother’s old friends could be traitors, right?”

Pulling at the hem of their skirt, Angelo stared at the ground.

“You don’t have to tell me -” Mabel began, hushed by a sudden hand in her face.

“No. It’s - it’s okay.” They sighed, and rubbed at their neck. “Almost everyone knows anyway. You see, my parents died. Two summers ago.”

It took a second for Mabel to put two and two together, eyes widening in horror. “Oh god. The spell. I’m so sorry, I had no idea - no wonder you don’t trust me.” Mabel could distinctly remember Ford talking about a couple who had died thanks to Dipper, _leaving a child behind._ It had never occurred to her that said child would be staying in the bunker, a lonely orphan. “Shit.”

Angelo sniffed heavily, a long, hard breath. “I miss them.”

Ducking down slightly, Mabel extended her arms. “Hug?” she offered, and they nodded in response, grabbing her with a surprisingly intense grip. Mabel gulped quietly. “You know,” she mumbled. “I understand. I know you probably have only hatred for my brother, but he was still my brother. He was my best friend. And if losing one person hurt me this much, you must have gone through hell.”

A damp patch was growing on her arm where Angelo’s head lay. Ah, well.

“I do hate him,” Angelo admitted.

“That’s okay.” Which was only half true - it sort of _wasn’t_ okay, because Mabel still didn’t want her brother to be held in hatred, but she couldn’t fault anybody. What Bill had built was nobody’s fault but his own.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Angelo muttered. “I don’t know what to say, though.”

“That’s also okay,” Mabel chuckled, suddenly finding her face rather wet. “I understand.”

Pacifica suddenly turned the corner, raising an eyebrow at the blotchy faces in front of her. “Uhm, Mabes, Ford needs you upstairs, stat.”

“I’ll be there.” Mabel offered one final pat to Angelo’s arm. “Chin up, you’re doing really well.”

They sniffled gratefully.

Following Pacifica to the elevators, Mabel wondered what the issue could be, considering all that had already happened that day. “It’s not more monsters, is it?”

Pacifica smirked. “Not… not really. You’ll understand when you get there. Just go up to the entrance.”

“You aren’t coming?”

“None of my business.” She looked askance, face coloured with ‘ _I’ve been through enough shit today.’_

“Oh, fairs.”

Mabel watched the numbers on the elevator slowly change as she was lifted to the ground floor, and ran up the stairs towards the doors. Stanford was standing with Stanley, talking at a rectangular box. They turned with no small relief when they heard her approach.

“Ah, excellent. Mabel, we need you to make a decision.” Ford turned the box slightly. “Also, say hello to Fiddleford.”

To her surprise, a fairly high-quality camera feed showed Fiddleford sat at a desk in what _looked_ to be Northwest Manor. The rich panelling was definitely familiar. “Heya kid! How are ya?” Fiddleford grinned his toothy grin and waved; Mabel laughed delightedly.

“I’m doing okay, thank you. It’s good to see you.”

“He’s moved into the manor,” Stanley chuckled. “Something about building robots? It hardly matters. Northwests ain’t gonna care.”

Mabel hummed. “Still. Nobody tell Pacifica about this.”

“No fear.” Ford turned the screen back to face him and smiled gently. “So, I know your opinion on this, but we have to let her have a say.”

“She’s a smart lass, but your family is too kind to their lot! I mean, this whole thing wouldn’t be happenin’ if that boy hadn’t -” Fiddleford paused, and while only Ford could see his face, Mabel guessed that he looked remorseful. “Anyways, I ain’t got anything else to tell ya!”

“Basically,” Stan grumbled, “we have visitors and we don’t know what to do with them.”

“Who is it?” Mabel asked.

“The manotaurs and the Multibear,” Ford hummed. “I know they’re not going to hurt us, but the townspeople should come first…”

“Open the door,” she demanded. “Let me talk to them.”

Ford obliged, despite the sigh from Fiddleford. Mabel had known the manotaurs for a while - since she started running tours, and they had gotten along very well in spite of the conflict in personalities. They’d joked together about how un-manly Dipper was, and traded tips on how to get stains out of clothing. The Multibear was mostly Dipper’s area, but he’d spoken highly of him, so how could she refuse?

An entire herd of manotaurs was waiting at the door, and Chutzpar huffed in relief at the sight of an old friend. The Multibear was stood next to him, obviously having come to a sturdy truce in the extreme circumstances.

“Pines girl, we are very glad to see you!” The Multibear offered a paw by way of greeting and she took it, smiling gently. “You must help us. It is not safe for us, not out in this wasteland.”

Chutzpar flexed. “Even we have nowhere to go, STRONG as we are. Our cave is not hidden and we have seen the CREATURES roaming the land. We ask for your sanctuary.”

“ _Not people!_ ” Fiddleford reminded them, but he went largely ignored.

“I don’t see why not,” Mabel said, turning to Ford. “They can sleep in the corridors, or we could move the cafeteria tables at night. Under one condition.” She whipped around and frowned. “Regular bathing. You hear me?”

A groan arose from the group of manotaurs but they agreed, jostling to enter. Ford and Stan shrugged. “If that’s what you want, kid.” Stan moved aside and let the manotaurs push through.

The Multibear waited, leaning into Mabel curiously. “But where is your brother?”

Chutzpar, who was trying to maintain vague order, looked back with alarm. “Do not speak of him. He had the feeling of an evil one.”

“An evil one? Surely not.”

Chutzpar gave up on his weak attempt at control and turned around, nervously clacking his hooves together. “You’re lucky that you didn’t meet him. It was two suns ago, I believe. You feel this magic?”

Both Stan and Ford carefully busied themselves with other things, and Fiddleford turned off his camera feed.

“How could I not feel it? The heat is unbearable.” He looked to Mabel. “Be glad you are not magically attuned. This spell that has covered us feels like a sickness to the skin.”

“Totally.” Chutzpar ground his foot into the dirt as the last of his clan entered the building. “The boy reeked of this, in any case. Exactly the same.”

The Multibear looked very sad and stepped over the threshold of the bunker. “I see. Come on in, friend, and we will introduce ourselves to the people. I hope they do not mind us.”

“How could they? They will be stunned by my STRENGTH.” The pair slowly descended the steps. “I do blame myself for this a little… if he turned to this to find his manly strength…”

Ford had left his gadget on the top of a box, where Fiddleford flickered back into view, sighing. “On your heads be it! I’ll stop by soon, ah need your help with somethin’. Stanford, keep me posted.” He chortled madly. “Until then!”

Turned away, Ford gave a quiet ‘until then,’ and the call dropped.

Somebody gave a shaky sigh.

Stanley was turned to the wall, picking at his vest; he seemed to tremble as he spoke. “We need to talk about this, don’t we?”

Nodding, Mabel glanced between the two hunched figures. Neither looked back at her, both fiddling with some apparently vital gadget or weapon, listening to the fumbling sounds of the monsters. Mabel scratched at her neck. “We really should just… sit down at a table and -”

There was a definite knock on the bunker door.

Mabel blinked in confusion, looking to Stan, who shrugged with an edge of relief. Ford counted up the new additions to the bunker and he rubbed at his chin. “We’ve got everybody we wanted. I don’t know who’s outside.”

“Should we open it?” Stan watched the manotaurs struggle with the lifts, cackling quietly. “Seems kinda suspect. Never know who could be tryin’ somethin’.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to see,” Mabel reasoned. “Throw me a gun.” Not that she had any intention to use it.

Ford did, watching uncertainly as she checked it over. “I’ll have my finger on the emergency attack system.”

“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll have _my_ finger on the trigger.” Achingly, the door began to open again, and Mabel trained her gun on the intruder, staring down her sights. Finally he became visible - recognisable, and she stepped back, heart racing.

Stanley ran a hand through his hair. “Wait, what?”

The figure raised its hands and spoke in a nervous quaver. “Please don’t shoot.”

Dipper was standing in the doorway.

***

_Tonight, we will end on the Lord’s Prayer, as requested by many in our sparse communications. I must admit, religion isn’t my strength, but to whom else can we appeal in our time of need? Therefore, I pray: Pater noster, qui es in caelis…_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuughhhhh I've been sitting on this for ages, it's not my best, I'm so sorry... I've been busy applying for Cambridge (help me) and such things, but trust me, this storyline consumes my days still. Also, it's almost been a year since I posted the prologue of Gold! That's cool.
> 
> If you're still around, thank you. I love y'all.
> 
> SONG: [ Clinging On For Life by the Hoosiers](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eWi0YiLMPc)


	6. Trace

“So, run this by me once more.” Tom supped at his hot chocolate thoughtfully. “You’re a clone, made out of paper. Not a person.”

Tracey nodded, carefully edging away from the hot drink. “The copy machine was destroyed, but we - I uh, I survived.”

Both Tom and Marie blinked awkwardly at the 12 year old version of their son - paler, covered in scratch marks, but alive. Mabel sighed and patted on his shoulder. He looked up. “What do you remember of Dipper?”

“Only bits and pieces,” he admitted. “I… forgot. I was so confused. I had my memories of the past few years and nothing else. I knew I was a clone, but I couldn’t have said who of.”

In the back of Mabel’s mind, she could see the flash of energy that burst out of the memory gun, repurposed, flattening the grass with its intensity. It had never occurred to her that Dipper’s old clone had survived, never mind that they would have erased a majority of his past. Who was he then?  _ Tracey, _ the boy had said. As she watched him, he grew increasingly sullen, and turned to look at his sister.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. “In private?”

“Of course,” she replied, noting the jittery discussion between her parents. Shit, this was going to have shaken them up. Nothing that Mabel couldn’t help.

The pair walked quietly towards the lifts and Mabel marvelled at the sight. Sure, the clone wasn’t  _ him _ \- but he looked so much like her brother, the same body with the added texture of paper. He still spoke with the same voice and smiled with the same boyish grin, and even though he still looked twelve, she reasoned that he would probably be fairly mature. Feeling a smile spread across her face, she ushered him to her room; she made a show of shutting and locking the door.

“Talk to me,” she jested, voice mocking a stereotypical mafia accent. 

Tracey giggled (and her heart exploded, because oh god, it was Dipper’s laugh), but his eyes were downcast. “There’s something you need to know. Because I need to tell somebody, and I’ve been keeping it to myself for so long.”

“Need to know?” It sounded ominous. 

“It’s not going to change anything. I just don’t want to be alone with this.” He fiddled with his faded orange shirt. “There was another one.”

“Another clone?” Mabel could believe that easily. 

“He was called Quattro,” Tracey continued, rubbing at his reddened nose. “And he was murdered.”

Oh. Stalling, Mabel shuffled, noticing that she’d chosen to sit on the concrete floor. “Oh. By whom?”

“I don’t know, just somebody from the town. They caught him in the woods, and they - they -” Tracey’s youthful face crumpled with upset. “They beat him round the head with something. I found him half-torn, and no amount of sellotape could fix that kind of damage. I wanted to know if you know why he died.” Tracey fixed her with a gaze that was stronger than she ever could have anticipated. “Was it to do with my original?”

He certainly had her brother’s quick mind.

“It probably was. Your - uh - Quattro, was probably killed by people who thought it was Dipper. They were hunting him down. I never dreamed that it would affect somebody other than him.” She wrung her hands. “I’m very sorry. You know, people claimed to have killed him, and I never believed it. I suppose they meant Quattro.”

“Closure. Thank you.” Confusion flickered across Tracey’s features. “And what happened to the original Dipper then?”

The words seemed to form themselves, nowadays. “He’s dead.”

Tracey’s eyes widened. “Oh, oh god. I - I should’ve expected that, really.”

“I have you, now, though.” 

He gave her a pained look. “I’m not him. You can’t start thinking like that, Mabel.”

“But you have his face! And his personality. You are  _ literally _ Dipper.”

“No. I spent the last two years creating myself.” He almost sounded angry. “What was it that Dipper did? Why did he die? There must have been a reason, and I’m willing to bet that the end of the world has something to do with it.”

Wasn’t Mabel done with this story? She was so tired of telling it. But Tracey was still staring with his terrifyingly familiar determination; she relented. “Look, it’s not - it’s not a reflection of you, okay? Dipper did bad things. He sided with Bill, and he killed a lot of people. I still don’t know how much of it was his choices and how much was Cipher pulling strings.”

“How many people?” 

“Around 40. Many more now. Thousands.” The final word echoed in her head, and a weight on her chest suddenly grew heavier. “He’s still alive, up in the pyramid, but he’s not a human anymore. I don’t even know how much of him is left.”

Tracey couldn’t hide the terror behind his blank facade, hands curled into a tight ball. It couldn’t be easy to know what you could be, or, technically, what he had become. A ruthless, cold sadist. Thankfully, Tracey was about as far from Pine Tree as a person could be. 

“I’m very glad that I’m not Dipper,” Tracey finally whispered. “Because I would  _ never _ do that.”

The judgement in his tone rubbed her the wrong way. “That’s probably what he used to think,” Mabel replied, a little unkindly. 

He shook his head. “I miss Quattro. He understood.” Standing, Tracey took the door key and opened the door wide, throwing the key into Mabel’s lap. “I’m probably going to stay out of your way. And Ford’s. It’s definitely for the better.”

“Right.” She watched him leave, not entirely upset. Tracey had obviously been through a lot, and he certainly wasn’t a twelve year old in mind. Not her little brother. When she touched him, it felt like paper. Thank god.

He certainly had the potential to make her or break her. 

Turning, she looked to the pine tree cap resting beside her pillow. She’d been fiddling with front the night before, feeling the stitching and the slight nicks in the material. It carried a lot. One of the many hats had been buried by Ford in one of his fits of melancholy, looking for a closure that wouldn’t allow itself to be found. This one had been worn over several summers, including Dipper’s last.

It did smell slightly of magic - a smell that Mabel only knew by proxy. It took her back to the screaming of sirens, and to the summoning circle that Ford had painted on the basement floor.

The sharp humming of power, and the flashing of light, watching the floor pulse with light, all of it was a vivid memory. A stench of ozone had been masked by the absolute fear in her heart when she’d seen her brother slowly slumping, magic hammering him into submission.

Blood flecked the hat in some places. Mabel didn’t know who it belonged to.

Sighing, she tore her gaze away, standing.

Duty called, she supposed. 

***

“So, he basically told you to leave him alone?”

“That’s the long and short of it.” Mabel shrugged at Wendy, who was neatly winging her eyeliner. “Which I mean, I get.”

“I get it,” Wendy replied, squinting at her own reflection. “It just sucks ass. Like, you’re family! Even if he is made of paper.” She paused. “Wait. Why did Dipper even make copies of himself?”

“Oh!” Mabel blushed. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

Wendy gave her a calculating stare, but didn’t press it further. “So.Tracey. Cute name. Kinda agender, like whatstheirface - Angelo. Love that kid. They have the best fashion sense.”

“Rich coming from you.” Mabel leant against the sink and hummed. Her hair wasn’t long enough to play with anymore; she missed the habit of twirling it between her fingers. “Pfchah. Any idea where Paz ran off to?”

“Not a clue.” Wendy  _ definitely _ gave her a look, smirking. “You two are joined at the hip, I swear. You’re not exactly subtle.”

Mabel froze for a second, and blushed harder. “Well -”

“Gaaaayyyyy _ yyyy _ ,” Wendy sang, grinning. “You’re  _ gay _ for her. Admit it. You look at her like she’s royalty, which like, she almost is. You’ve got the hots for her.”

“Holyshitshutup,” Mabel whispered, eyeing the door and disappearing into her sweater. “She’s pretty, yes, I admit it.”

Flashing an eager grin, Wendy leaned in. “You ever kissed her?” 

“...no.” 

“Bummer.” Back to her usual nonchalance, Wendy checked the zips on her boots and made for the door, turning as she reached it. “You should. She totally likes you, you know. I dunno if Candy or Grenda bothered to mention it, but she checks you out whenever you walk away. So. There’s that.”

Mabel stood silently for a full minute, just staring at the empty space Wendy had left. Finally, the door swung once more.

“Hey.” Stretching, Pacifica had roughed her hair up from a brief training session with Stan. She laughed softly. “You okay there?”

***

Mabel wondered what it would be like to kiss Pacifica.

To her chagrin, Mermando had been her first and final kiss. Nobody else had really thrown themselves her way. High school had initially been fraught with looking after her brother, and then looking after herself. Funny that, how she’d taken up the role of the teen on pills, just like him. No-one had been cruel enough to bully Mabel about her need for antidepressants. They’d just ignored her or looked a little sadly at the girl who had dimmed from her vibrant past, a star already burning out.

She was sure Pacifica was soft.

***

To Mabel’s surprise, Tracey was sat with her parents the next morning. They were watching him intently, mouths caught somewhere between smiles and aching longing. Marie took his hand, initially surprised by the texture, then laughing gently at one of Tom’s jokes. Also faintly pleased, Tracey caught her gaze across the room.

She waved awkwardly.

He waved back, revealing a slash across his palm.

A miracle, really, that he was alive at all.

Still, he made himself scarce as soon as Ford entered the room, trailing a group of manotaurs behind him. In all of the excitement of not-Dipper, Mabel had nearly forgotten them; while some people eyed them with discomfort, it was still nothing in comparison to the absolute vehemence that was being displayed towards Tracey. Intelligently, he’d mainly stayed out of the way, but he couldn’t hide his existence forever. Stan had probably saved him from immediate attack. 

Discreetly, Ford watched Tracey slink away, a hint of disappointment colouring his features. He turned; with an authoritative cough he effectively cloaked his emotion and called the attention of the people in the room. There was a grumble of dissent from some who mostly wanted to eat in peace or chat, but silence fell.

“Uh, yes. Good day, all. I would like to announce another town meeting downstairs in half an hour. Attendance is not mandatory, but certainly would be appreciated.” He paused. “Thank you.”

General nods of agreement made a mexican wave across the room, and chatter resumed. Everybody looked tired; it was easy to tell who had been up at night patrolling, as they shovelled food in with an intense fervour that Mabel could wholly appreciate. She glanced into her own bowl of cheerios (in depleting supply, sadly) and decided it could do with some more colour.

“Are you putting... glitter on that?”

Mabel had ingested enough of the stuff to know she would survive a little more. “Yes mother,” she replied, holding her pink sparkles up for general viewing. “I felt this day needed something fun.”

Smiling, Tom patted his wife’s arm. “Look, our daughter still carries glitter everywhere. That’s a good thing.”

In some happier time, a younger Mabel had sewn glitter tubes into her clothing; it didn’t seem to make sense to remove them now. Above all else that would be an admittance that times were too dire for the frivolity of sparkles… which was not something that Mabel could tolerate. 

A manotaur (Terry, Mabel thought) passed by the table and paused. His eyes lingered on the pink. “Your food is eyecatching, Pines.” 

“Thanks,” she replied. “Are you comfortable enough?”

“Terrance is more than comfortable. Thank you for letting us stay.” 

“No problem.” She watched him eye the rapidly disappearing herd. 

“I should go catch up with my partner,” he huffed. “He will be wishing to hunt now, if we are still able.”

“He…” Marie nibbled at her lip. “Where are the females?”

Terrance laughed briskly. “We did not know of them until we met another animal, and none so stridently divisive as your own. Good day, Pines. I hear hunting bugles.”

Generous trumpeting had started up a few floors above. Tom and Marie watched in some bemusement as Terrance stomped away. “How weird,” Tom muttered. “Fascinating, but weird.”

“I miss Piedmont,” Marie agreed. “But Gravity Falls isn't the worst replacement.”

There was that dangerous allure, Mabel realised. The draw of the fantastical. 

She would rather learn about Pacifica, these days.

***

To say that attendance was not mandatory, the conference room was packed. The central table had gained more chairs; now there were ten around its perimeter. Ford sat at the head, with Cutebiker and Manly Dan on either side. Fiddleford, to Mabel’s delight, was perched next to Tyler, his eyes darting suspiciously around the room for any sign of danger. Every other chair was filled by significant figures in the town - Blubs waved at her eagerly. Pacifica herself had been given the honour of a placement. She raised one eyebrow as Mabel approached.

“Hi,” she said. “Apparently I’m a VIP.”

“Apparently so,” Mabel agreed, only a little disappointed to lack the same status. “Are you representing the Northwest dynasty?”

Pacifica rolled her eyes and grinned. “Yeah. My family  _ do _ have the most extensive knowledge of Gravity Falls. Dad taught me all about it.” She grimaced suddenly. “I think he did, anyways. Some of it was lies.”

“Like founding the town?”

Sighing, Pacifica rested her head on her palms. “Exactly like that.”

“At least you get a seat.” Scanning the faces around her, Mabel noted that neither Tracey nor the manotaurs had turned up. Multibear was stationed in the corner of the room, watching curiously and waving when one of his sets of eyes met her own. She waved back with a broad sweep of the hand, almost hitting Pacifica in the process.

“Thanks babe,” Paz grumbled, but she was smiling.

“ _ THANK YOU _ all for coming,” Ford yelled, and Pacifica turned around with a grimace. “This attendance is very promising.”

Fiddleford let out a cackle, which seemed entirely unintentional to Mabel. In any case, the people were unnerved enough by it to quieten their discussions to occasional murmurs. Gratefully, Ford patted his friend on the arm. 

“This meeting is fairly vital, as we will be announcing our further plan of action. First, our statistics -” Ford looked to his brother. “You have them?”

Stanley heaved himself from his chair with a grumble. “Yeah, yeah.” Unfolding a sheath of paper, he cast one displeased glance at his great niece. “Right. So, we been keeping a pretty accurate record of what we've done this far. We've killed a total of 138 monsters, which is pretty impressive I s’pose. We've got 7 injured. Nobody’s died. That's - that's all there is.” 

He fell back into his chair and shoved the papers back into his suit.

“Thank you for that impassioned delivery,” Ford muttered, a touch unkindly. “I think that it is clear that we have very effectively protected ourselves. Thank you all for your diligence in fighting. I know it's an uncomfortable job for you.”

A few people applauded. “Now to the main business. Ending the apocalypse.”

Several cries of ‘what?’ burst up from the crowd, Stanley watching his twin with nervous attentiveness. Ford rearranged his coat, smile betraying some uncertainty. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's something we have to look into. If we can end this once and for all, we might just save the world before it is too far gone.”

“Does it include going up to that unholy floating pyramid?” Tad asked, as blandly cheerful as ever.

“Well, we have to eventually.” Ford shrugged. “Confronting Pine Tree is a necessity, whether we like it or not-”

Mabel felt her father push past her slightly, raising his hands.

“I don’t know if I can do this…” Tom was nibbling on the frayed edge of a jumper. “I just don’t think I can fight against him without… without feeling like I’m fighting my son.”

Ford nodded in understanding, but his facial expression didn’t change. “Dipper is dead. Say that as much as you need to to convince yourself. Because whoever that is in the pyramid is not my nephew, and that’s all Bill Cipher’s fault.” He ignored the glance from Stan which suggested that he took issue with that statement, and Mabel’s blood ran a little colder. 

Dipper was dead.

Dipper was dead. But he couldn’t be. Pine Tree might have become twisted, and evil, but there was no way that Dipper was  _ gone _ . He was there, somewhere, underneath the coverlet of golden eyes and dashing suits.

Ford was speaking again. “We can’t let feelings get in the way of fighting. Tell yourself whatever you must to cope. Yes, times are certainly dark, but we have our strength and an… unexpectedly capable group of soldiers. Now, the manotaurs have offered their own abilities in killing the monsters that reach our door. Fiddleford has been working on a set of…” he sighed. “A set of ‘mechas’ to use.”

Considerable murmurs of excitement rose at this, yet Mabel couldn’t really focus her mind upon that idea. When she glanced about, multiple eyes were watching her, including those of Pacifica and Candy. Mabel suddenly missed not being the centre of attention all the time. Had Pine Tree been somebody other than her brother, she wouldn’t have to feel the constant pressure of eyes trying to read her actions, kind or not. Sometimes, she felt that she was being  _ tested _ \- and for  _ what -? _

“If I could have your attention again, please!”

Stanford was rapping his knuckles against the wood of the table, creased eyebrows reading with agitation. “ _ Thank _ you.” He began to fumble with the contents of a backpack lying beside his chair, and pulled out a sizeable, rolled up piece of paper. “We cannot just shoot at the enemy,” he announced, righting himself. “There is another plan.” 

With one swift movement, he unfurled the paper.

Mabel’s blood  _ definitely _ ran cold at the sight of the image in the middle.

The Cipher Wheel.

The selfsame image that had burned very briefly into her retinas after meeting Bill for the first time, when he was still that quirky bad guy who had been working for Gideon. Then, she had cast quick glances at it in the second Journal, and tried to work out what it meant. Surely the shooting star was her. 

“The Cipher Wheel,” Ford announced, seriously. “A prophecy that I found, when I was a young man. This certainly should bring down Cipher if we can form the group that the magic requires.”

Mabel looked over the symbols with some trepidation, eyes coming to rest on the pine tree symbol. There was no way that Ford hadn’t come up with some kind of plan to solve that issue. 

“We will convene in here again in 3 days, when we will enact Plan A. We need to allow time for certain people to arrive.” Glancing at Stanley, Ford shrugged. “That’s all. Remember: Dipper is dead. We have to do all that we can to end this.”

Mabel finally pinpointed her fear. She barely noticed the speed with which the room emptied, waving Pacifica away. Stanford was reading over a document in his chair. He looked up.

“Are you okay, Mabel? Do you need anything?”

“You aren’t going to kill him again, are you?”

Surprised by the tremble of her own voice, Mabel found herself looking downwards, almost embarrassed. 

“Mabel.” Ford dropped his pen immediately and hurried over, pulling her head up to look her directly in the eyes. “Mabel, you can’t do this. We have to do what’s necessary to survive. You musn’t put your loyalty with Pine Tree.  _ Promise _ me.”

She hesitated. He stepped back. “Mabel.” His voice carried an edge of warning. “You have to promise me. This is not something we can afford to be divided about. Pine Tree is not your ally.”

“I  _ know _ that,” she insisted. “But Dipper - “

“Is dead. Dipper is dead,” Ford spat, something burning beneath the surface. “It’s been  _ two years, _ Mabel. You have to accept that the brother you once knew is long gone.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Heat rose in her gut, a primal anger. “You  _ made _ him what he is. I heard Bill. Without you, he might have lived.”

“Is that really what you think?” Ford sounded horrified, unused to such vitriol from Mabel. 

“Maybe! I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Either way,  _ you _ killed him.” She knew that her words were unnecessary but they tumbled out like fall leaves. It felt altogether too good to say them. “And you talk about  _ acceptance _ ? How  _ dare you. _ ”

The old man flinched as though her blow had been a physical one, lip curling miserably, fists shaking at his sides. When he mustered the strength to speak, his voice trembled as easily as a child’s. “Do you not think I regret that decision every second of my life? Do you not think that I see - it - when I shut my eyes? Do you really think I don’t -” hot tears slipped from beneath his glasses and Ford clapped a hand to his mouth, curling in on himself. “God, Mabel, I wish I could go back and take that bullet for him. It’d be better than living like  _ this. _ I’m just trying to be strong. _ ” _

Ice tore through her chest and she trembled, catching him in her arms and holding him close. She and Ford did not hug all that often - only when they had been separated for a long time, or in fits of happiness. Not like this. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I never -”

He just raised a hand; she counted his six fingers. “No. You’re right.” Ford laughed bitterly. “I deserve it. Genuinely.” Gently, he laughed, sighing into her hair. “You’ve grown so much, you know? You’re a smart girl.” 

“Thanks.” Mabel just nibbled on her lip, pulling back awkwardly.

“I mean it,” he insisted, voice edged with guilt. “I never told you enough. You’re astute, you have good common sense, you persist. Even when I was trying to - well, drink my problems away - you somehow held it together. Some of the sparkle is missing, though.” 

“I was on antidepressants for a year, so - sparkle supplements.” 

“Are you okay?” Never before had Ford thought to ask. “ _ Are _ you okay, Mabel? You always seem to hold everybody else together, but do you look after yourself?”

She paused. “No, probably not. Is anyone?”

“No.” Ford rubbed his arm. “I wonder what it’s like.”

“I miss it…” Mabel suddenly laughed, overly loudly. “Wow! This is depressing. I’m sorry for shouting at you. I didn’t mean it so strongly.” 

“It’s okay. I deserved it.” Ruffling her hair fondly, he pushed her towards the exit. “Now go and spend time with Northwest. I believe she will be missing you. And uh, Stanley and I want you to know that we approve.” He sniffed. “If that means anything.”

She stuttered a small thanks and he laughed. “I promise I’ll stay with you,” she said, a little belatedly. “Don’t worry.”

***

“Whaaaat. No.” Angelo threw their money down, squinting. “How the hell have I been reduced to Connecticut Avenue? I call bullshit.”

Egg slipped another $500 note under the table, making sure not to look into the eyes of his accomplice. “No idea,” he whistled. “But it sure looks like Trace is doing well. For a twelve year old.”

“I’m  _ not _ twelve.” Tracey reorganised his cards for the fifteenth time, smugly stroking Boardwalk and Park Place. “I had many years to practice this, so don’t underestimate me.”

“I could easily draw a mustache on you, you know.” Angelo was smirking, though, and cast an appreciative glance at the new addition to the friendship group. It was weird. No doubt about that. Probably good for them, though, to see Tracey and not see the person who had caused the apocalypse. Healing, almost. “If you can get me to declare bankruptcy in the next five moves, I’ll give you all my sellotape.”

Visibly brightening at this, Tracey rolled the dice. 8. He pushed the little top hat to a  _ Chance _ square; both Angelo and Egg groaned. 

***

The pyramid floated a little higher, anticipatory. 

Sharp, dark, emotionless.

Waiting.

***

_ And next up, we have another song to tantalise. The world may end, but music can never die, right? So, enjoy. - _

_ When you were young you used to dream about fires - and scream into the night - to find me standing barefoot at your side - I used to whisper it will be alright - and lay down at your side - and take your tiny hands into mine - And how - _


	7. The Cipher Wheel

Two days later, Stanley walked up to Mabel as she sat and sketched at an empty table. “You wanna come out for a bit?” he asked, proffering a scarf. 

She took it. “I’m not doing much else. What’s the reason?”

“You’ll see,” he answered mysteriously; he wrapped his own scarf around his head. “Yer gonna want that, and a decent coat. Cipher’s decided he’s bored with the weather, or somethin’, because it’s a shitstorm out there.”

“Not literally,” Mabel laughed. “Right?”

Stanley gave a low chuckle. “Nah, but don’t give him any ideas. C’mon. You’ll like this.”

True to Stan’s word, the outside world was caught in a flurry of dirt and sand as an ethereal power whipped it into a frenzy. It wasn’t fast enough to really cause pain, just difficulty seeing; occasionally, the particles would stop in midair and move in reverse. Through the haze of umber, Mabel could make out the skeletons of blackened trees, clutching Stan’s hand tightly as he navigated the cracking ground at their feet. “ _Bitching_ _triangle_ ,” she heard him shout through his scarf. “ _Can hardly see the fucking compass!”_

Her laughter was lost in a sudden pick up of the gale, shutting her eyes against any erroneous grains of dirt. Still they walked, pressing themselves against the wind that was not wind, hands clasped tightly together.

A landmass grew in the distance, standing out against the silhouettes of black, a washed-out copper circle that Mabel was sure she recognised. After a second of thought, she turned to her Grunkle. “ _ What is that -?” _

_ “Just wait and see,”  _ he yelled, pulling out a glowing device with his free hand.  _ “Almost there.” _

In the five minutes that followed, the power of the winds grew to an almost unbearable rate, making Mabel wince at the pain of the increasingly small grains battering her uncovered skin. A gentle roar crescendoed into a ridiculous blanket of noise, until she pulled her scarf over all of her face and relied purely upon Stan’s guidance. 

They came to a stop, where the weather was more clement, and she stepped over something protruding from the ground. Finally, the sound quietened and her abused hands could rest.

“Take the scarf off, kiddo.”

“I almost don’t trust you,” she joked, thankfully pulling the material away. They were inside something distinctly curved; it was a small space, with a few monitors and computers whirring away. “Dang. This is cool.”

“Thank Fiddleford,” Stan replied, enviously. “The water tower fell down and he decided to convert it into an offsite base. Dunno what we’ll  _ use  _ it for, but if it makes him happy…”

Really, Mabel had never thought that the tower would be this big on the inside. “I should’ve guessed. You wouldn’t think I saw it all summer.”

“The landscape is barely recognisable, kid.”

There was a knock on the door, which curved into the wall. Before Mabel or Stan could open it, a figure forced his way through, cloaked in black and menacing in his significant stature. Panicking, Mabel tried to look for a weapon - which shouldn’t have been too hard with Fiddleford running the place - only for the stranger to clap one hand on her shoulder.

“ _ Hambone!”  _ The black hood of the figure fell back to reveal Soos, grinning widely. “I’m so happy to see you!”

Stan started chuckling as Mabel stopped, startled, and immediately teared up. “ _ SOOS!” _ He opened his arms and she jumped into them, holding him close. “Oh my god! I’ve missed you so much, I had no idea you were coming.”

“Course I am! Had to see you. Plus -” he lifted up his cloak to reveal his faded Mystery Shack shirt. “Can’t make that wheel thingy without good ol’ Question Mark!”

“ _ Duh _ ,” she piped, sounding very young to her own ears. “I should have guessed! Man, I’m really pleased you’re here. How’s Melody?”

“Tough as ever.” His grin reached his ears, which waggled slightly. “She really rocks a gun.”

“I will never understand how you got ‘er,” Stan grumbled, trying and failing to hide his jealousy. “That woman could probably kick Cipher out by herself if she really wanted to.”

“ _ I know.” _ Soos’ smile was reaching the uppermost limits of its width. 

“How’s the baby?” Mabel couldn’t help but mirror his expression.

Soos rolled his eyes. “Macy isn’t so much a baby anymore. One and a half, already a tearaway -”

“Gets it from me -” Stanley nudged Soos proudly, and they shared a fatherly look. 

A strong gust of wind battered at the side of the building and Soos jumped, glancing nervously about. “Bill sure has a good hold on the weather,” he laughed, with a telltale lilt. “Hope this plan works, huh? I don’t fancy walking in  _ this _ again. The ride I hitched was hard enough!”

Stan and Soos nattered amiably about trucks and post-apocalyptic travel fare as Mabel tapped curiously at the computers. One monitor displayed a half-finished image of a mecha, with several pictures of anime robot fighters blue-tacked to the adjacent wall. The 3-D model swiveled about on an axis, the screen occasionally offering capitalized suggestions on material usage or fuel maximization. Fiddleford hadn’t been kidding about the weaponry.

Turning around, she caught sight of another screen. It had an early blueprint design of something that looked oddly like the old memory gun, and she was about to approach it when she overheard the ongoing conversation.

“I wouldn’t worry about it -” Soos chuckled, and Stanley gave an uncomfortable grunt. “Ford is like, super smart. If anyone can -”

“Then he can,” Stan butted in, rudely. “I think you overestimate my brother’s control over this. I see him every day, and trust me, he’s just as lost as the rest of us.”

“Well,” Soos chirruped. “If we could get Di-”

“Don’t go there,” Stanley sighed, raising one hand. “It’s a bad idea.”

Mabel stopped pretending to be looking at the technology and turned around, mouth already shaping words.

There was another knock on the door.

Stan raised one eyebrow as another hooded figure tumbled in, significantly taller and thinner. Robbie wasted no time in pulling away his robe, spitting sand out of his mouth. “Thanks for waiting,” he grumbled. The amount of eyeshadow he wore had decreased over the years and he almost looked like a fully functioning member of society. Almost.

“You didn’t have to shuffle,” Soos laughed. 

“Don’t see why not,” Robbie huffed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. He looked far more natural that way - visible skin on Robbie always looked a bit wrong, somewhere close to uncanny valley. He gave a wry smile on seeing Mabel, and nodded. “Yo.”

“Hi,” she replied. “No Tambry?”

“Pff, nah.” He didn’t seem very upset by that fact. “She wanted to stay in Portland. Can’t blame her. Got a wedding to plan, and all that.” Mabel immediately began to puff up in delight, and his eyes widened. “Oh my god, not my wedding! Somebody else, a friend of ours. No no, we aren’t tying the knot just yet.”

Mabel deflated.

“We should get on out of here,” Stanley rumbled, throwing his scarf over his head haphazardly. “Before Cipher gets any ideas about making more fires. You’d think he was some kind of hell demon, given the amount of trees that’re scorched out there.”

“For all we know, he might be,” Robbie grumbled, and threw his hoodie back up over his head. It suited him much better than his weirdly casual attire.

They departed carefully, grouped together in a neat clump. 

As they walked away, Mabel remembered something which she’d repressed for years, the ripped paper she’d found in the car as her brother slept in her lap.  _ A grand finale _ , she thought it had said,  _ throwing Dipper from the water tower. _ She’d been so relieved at the time, so thankful that he was alive. Now she wasn’t entirely sure that survival had really been all that merciful. It was all the same result, in the end.

Would she have been able to cope with it? Logic said no. At twelve she had been rendered incoherent by the loss of her favourite button, never mind her own brother. Watching his health slip had been terrible, but he’d been  _ there _ , and so long as they were together then things would be alright.

She held Stanley close as they neared the bunker, Robbie just about keeping pace despite the gradual slowing in the speed of the winds. The pyramid seemed to have hovered away towards the mountains, sitting just below the slit in the skyline. 

A tentacle protruded from the rift and tasted the air, hungrily.

***

On the next day, Fiddleford turned up at 4:30am and managed to annoy just about everybody. Mabel wouldn’t have minded, if he hadn’t of brought -

“Oh, Mabel Pahnes, it’s been a mighty long time since we last met! How are ya?”

Gideon Gleeful was less rotund than he had been, yet somehow no less supercilious and overbearing. The odd thing was, besides being repulsed by him, Mabel was also  _ afraid _ , and she stepped away from his outstretched palm. He frowned. “Have ah done somethin’ to offend?”

She clutched at her dressing gown, feet cold on the entranceway floor. Looking into his eyes reminded her all too strongly of things she’d wished to forget. Memories such as his hair glinting in the near-September sun, porcine eyes glinting with glee as he recounted crushing Dipper’s hand and the way that Dipper had  _ screamed _ , eyes almost rolling out of sight in his absolute agony.  _ I almost stabbed him clean through the head _ , Gideon had boasted.  _ He’s a wily bastard, ah give him that. But ah slammed the handle into his mouth - bloody sight!  _ Then he’d laughed. 

His eyes would always have wandered to her own, looking for some kind of praise, and she'd barely concealed her disgust.  _ Ah almost killed him,  _ he would say.  _ But ah let him go. It would've been too merciful. Somebody else’ll do it, and it'll be much crueller than me.  _

In his way, he had been entirely correct about that, and very pleased by it.

So, Mabel was afraid of him.

“She don’ have to shake yer hand,” Stanley growled. Even in a moth-eaten blanket and boxers, he towered menacingly. “You ain't exactly given her a reason.”

“Ah was just bein polite-” Gideon began, distinctly wounded, but Ford intervened with a sigh.

“Can we not fight about this?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mabel, get Fiddleford settled in. Gideon?”

“Yes Fordsie?”

“Nobody cares about your handshake.”

Stanley withheld a chuckle. Mabel coughed with amusement as Gideon turned pink, and she ran down the steps to catch up with Fiddleford, who had willfully abandoned the boy at the door. 

“Well hello there Miss Mabel, how are ya?” Fiddleford pulled cheerfully at the lapels of a suspiciously new brown suit. 

“I'm okay. Uh - how come you have Gideon with you?” She tried to sound nonchalant, still shaken by the sudden appearance of her old rival. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“Oh, not at all, not at all!” Fiddleford’s voice was similarly strained. “Nah, Ford asked me if ah would look after ‘im, seeing as nobody wanted to have ‘im in the bunker. It’s not so bad. The mansion is big enough that ah don’t have to see him too much.”

“What about Bud?”

Fiddleford froze suddenly and hummed. “Nah. Just us two.”

Which gave both answers and questions. Mabel coughed awkwardly.

Thankfully, Gideon was kept away from the majority of the townspeople, left with the Manotaurs who were much more welcoming. “We have no personal qualms,” Terrance snorted, clapping Gideon on the shoulder. “We will teach him in the ways of MANLY JUSTICE and HONOUR. I hope he is a fan of INTENSE MUSCLE TRAINING.”

Gideon’s facial expression suggested that he very much did not like the sound of that; Stanley cheerfully reported his fate to Mabel later in the day.

***

“Is everything ready?” 

Ford clutched at his spray paint bottle and ruminated on the exact neatness of the circles on the floor. His precision with the magic wasn’t quite so important as it usually was - unlike a summoning circle, he was only nudging the prophecy in the right direction, teasing the strands of fate in the hope that he could disentangle them. Stanley was watching him nervously. Even now, there was uncertainty in his twin’s eyes, as though Ford would disappear into thin air and never return. 

After parting for so long and then losing Dipper, it was natural to be afraid. Loath as he was to admit it, Ford suspected that he was more afraid than anybody else in the bunker. If Mabel took one wrong step, slipped through his fingers -

“It’s ready,” he replied, setting the can down on the conference table, which had been pushed up against the wall to maximise space. 

“And who’s coming?” Stanley was already hovering by the door, pulling at his Mr Mystery suit. 

“Just… just the people on the wheel.” Ford proffered a list. It was ripped from his hand and Stan was gone, as spry as ever. Everybody had wanted to see, but Ford wasn’t quite ready to put his dignity on the line. His gentle leadership was going to be tested over time. Ownership of the bunker wouldn’t maintain his authority forever, and if the prophecy managed to backfire, minimal damage was absolutely necessary. 

***

“Bring the hat,” Stan suggested brusquely, and Mabel almost didn’t catch his meaning. 

She’d been sat on her carpet, playing a mindless card game with Pacifica as her clothing dried on the line which she’d hung across her room. Neither was particularly inclined to speak. Mabel was intensely aware of the nervousness clinging to the base of her skull, watching Pacifica pull at a burn mark on her arm subconsciously. Her right side had grazed one of the scalding rocks outside, dodging away from a monster but inevitably catching the tail end of a forest fire. The burn wasn’t terrible; with any luck, Pacifica wouldn’t be suffering from any scarring. 

It still looked wrong to Mabel’s eyes. Pacifica was usually soft, and unmarred. Suddenly the world was defying that.

Stan had barged in almost dazedly, clutching onto a piece of paper like his very life depended on it. “We’re starting in ten,” he’d muttered. “Both of ya. And - bring the hat.”

Blinking, Mabel had looked dumbly about the room before spotting the aging cap still slung over one of the bedposts. Stan was already gone, Pacifica already on her feet, and she took it from its resting place as though it were made of glass.

The conference room was surprisingly sparse. Her great uncles were organising tirelessly, Gideon trying to catch their conversations and failing. Fiddleford entertained Marie and Tom with fantastical tales of the things Dipper and Mabel had done as children, talking endlessly of memory guns and terrifying monsters and events that Mabel thought were more than slightly embellished. Wendy had dropped her cool facade and was biting at her lip. Robbie was trying to talk to her and failing.

“I don’t - this is  _ stupid  _ -”

Door half open, Soos almost fell in, hand wrapped gently around a papery white limb. True to form, Tracey was looking consternated. “It’s not going to work,” he insisted. “Dipper read into this stuff before I was made. Paper is  _ not _ a reasonable conductor.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with music,” Soos replied cheerfully, shutting the door behind him. “Ah, Mabel! Hello.”

“Hey again,” she replied, watching his eyes rest uneasily on the pine cap and the stains across it. “Feeling ready?”

“Excited!” Tracey rolled his eyes at the energy Soos exuded, which Soos duly ignored. “I got a good feeling, Hambone. Even just being around everyone again - it’s good. Melody would’ve loved to have been here.”

Pacifica yanked on Mabel’s arm. “Hey. Look.” 

Waving her away, Soos disappeared into the corner of the room to accost Wendy with hugs, laughing when Tracey blushed.

Following Pacifica’s direction, Mabel stared at the huge cipher wheel on the floor, very bright and very blue. The six-fingered hand was closest to her feet, and the shooting star (which she had always wondered at) was farthest from the door, almost at the opposite wall. It was funny, she’d seen it before, but seeing it in the flesh - 

The prophecy felt far more  _ real. _ When Pine Tree had told her about the prophecy surrounding him, it was only his presence which had made the whole thing seem genuine rather than some bizarre dream. 

“Is this everyone?” 

Ford’s voice carried over the small group of people and Mabel only had a brief chance to wave at her parents before he was clasping his hands together in anticipation.

“Excellent,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “We all know, of course, why we are here, and welcome to everybody who has come from elsewhere. Much appreciated that you make the journey given the dangerous times…”

Mabel realized that she was growing very used to this kind of public address from Ford.

“There is a method to this madness…” he continued, quirking an eyebrow. “I found this prophecy years ago, although I did not realize its importance at the time. The Cipher Wheel - with any luck, it is the power which will help us to banish the presence of Bill Cipher. It requires a very specific set of people to make it work, and we are by no means the first. With any luck, we will be the last.”

Soos gave a quiet  _ wow  _ but the room was otherwise silent.

“As you have probably guessed, the symbols on the wheel represent people.” He gestured widely at the spray paint on the floor. “I really hope this washes off. Hum. In any case, we should try to organize ourselves.”

Snorting, Pacifica pointed at the six-fingered hand close to her feet. “Might this be you?” she deadpanned.

Ford glared, not liking his dramatic flair being undermined. “Naturally,” he countered. Walking to the fez symbol, he sniffed. “Stanley.”

Stan shrugged and took his place. 

One by one, they found their symbols on the wheel. “Glasses - that’s you, Fiddleford, symbolizing intelligence. Bleeding heart and question mark - you can guess who those are, same with the pentagram.” Ford was enjoying himself just a bit, always a fan of theatrics. “Ice cubes - that’s you, Wendy, the one who can always keep her cool. Mabel, if you would like to go to the star?”

Mabel did as she was asked, passing the pine hat to Stanley as she passed him. To her left was the llama, which Pacifica took due to her ‘sturdiness and constancy.’

“Stubbornness,” she grumbled, but grinned, nudging Mabel. 

To Mabel’s right but one was Gideon, his pudgy hands wringing uncertainly, glancing up at Robbie who did not want to acknowledge his existence. Directly to her right, however -

“And the Pine Tree,” Ford muttered. The circle was otherwise complete. “Right. I have plans for this. Tracey will stand there first, and if that doesn’t work, we will try Marie and Tom. Hopefully, the symbol can be understood less literally than, say, mine.” He hummed. “Just to be safe, we even have the old hat. So, Tracey, could you kindly swap your cap and stand next to Mabel?”

In a definite fit of anger, Tracey swiped the hat from Stanley and replaced his usual paper one. He stood at the Pine Tree symbol and grimaced in his determination not to accept the situation. “It won’t work,” he mumbled.

“Ur, hold hands,” Stanley instructed. “An’, hum, I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Mabel took Pacifica’s hand and looked uneasily down at Tracey, who was carrying the same air of frustration as he had been since entering the room. To her amusement, Gideon was looking at him with a definite sense of fear. Still...

“Hurt him,” she hissed, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Gideon nodded quickly, and took Tracey’s hand with a gentleness unbefitting of his nature.

Everybody else had linked arms across the circle, and Ford was watching Mabel with a sickly nervousness and anticipation. “It’s not going to work,” Tracey repeated, helplessly, and took hold of his sister. For a second, the collective hopefulness of the group swelled her heart so much that she believed something was rising in the room, a sense of  _ power - _

Then Ford dropped his grasp on Stanley and lowered his head in frustration. When he looked up again, small tears were trying to gather in the corners of his eyes, only held back by his leadership instincts and dwindling self-pride.

“Right,” he muttered. “Everyone, stay where you are. Marie, if you would take Tracey’s place, please?”

Vindicated, Tracey stepped away and only spared a brief hug for Mabel before leaving the room, changing his hat with surprising speed. Marie stared at the tree symbol, and then at her husband. She picked up Dipper’s cap from where it had been thrown on the floor.

Did either of them embody the more esoteric qualities of the pine tree symbol? If it could be reduced down to Dipper’s old courage and curiosity, then there was the chance that they would end up trying to fill the space with everybody in the bunker. Watching her mother pull on the trucker cap, Mabel was struck by how much Dipper had looked like Marie, with the same warm gaze and button nose.

She held Gideon’s hand with minor reservations, and offered a wan smile to her daughter before completing the circle.

Nothing happened.

Ford didn’t even say anything, gesturing crossly for Tom to try. The hat was much too small for his head, and the tense seconds in which he loosened the back were physically painful, Pacifica leaning on Mabel’s shoulder for comfort.

“Third time’s the charm,” Tom piped, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. Any of the magic had worn off. Fingers slipping through Mabel’s own, he just laughed owlishly when the circle stayed as mute and useless as before. 

Nobody moved for a second, as though the added time would somehow bring the prophecy to life. 

Reaching up to straighten his hat, Fiddleford sighed. “Well, that’s that, Fordsie. Plan A never works, anyways.”

Relieved, the circle was allowed to collapse completely, Wendy stretching upwards and giving a frustrated groan. Gideon was eyeing the door desperately; Stanley blocked the way as he tried to pull his twin out of his reverie. 

Ford’s eyes were slightly misted behind his glasses, hand tensing. “Well,” he managed to bite out. “I suppose there isn’t any other option. If none of the alternatives work, then…” He looked to Marie and Tom almost apologetically. “We have to try and get Pine Tree to help.”

Both Fiddleford and Gideon let out an immediate  _ what? _ in response, the former disbelieving as the latter cowered in fear. Much as Mabel doubted that Pine Tree would really harbour that much vengeance for the bouffant-haired egoistic asshole, she struggled to hold back her laughter. Really, as if  _ Gideon _ had anything to be afraid of. 

Even Stanley was looking doubtful, appealing to Soos’ for backup as he asked  _ if this was really a good idea, considering they’d already given up on saving - him - before he’d died.  _

“Look,” Ford snapped. “I know it sounds insane, but we don’t exactly have a lot of options. The prophecy is the only plan we  _ have  _ at the moment. Do you expect to burst into the pyramid and take over by force?”

Wendy was pulling a face which suggested that yes, she rather did, but said nothing. 

“And what happens to him if he does come?” Pacifica asked, cutting in for the first time. “I get the feeling it may be a bit of a hard sell. ‘ _ Switch sides so you can save the earth you’ve been trying to destroy, and you could possibly die in the process!’” _ She snorted. “That’s totally gonna work.”

“That’s why we need to appeal to his humanity,” Stanford bristled, wincing at his own words. “Whatever remains. If nothing else, we need intel on what Bill is trying to do, so the trip wouldn’t be a waste of time. Would anyone be willing to go?”

Snorting softly, Robbie nibbled on his finger, glancing at Wendy; even she was reticent, her own gaze landing expectantly on Stanley. 

“Send me.” Mabel felt herself speak almost without willing it, heart hammering. “I'll do it.”

Ford blanched. “No. No way in hell. Of all people, you are most vulnerable to Pine Tree -”

“And vice versa!” She bit her lip in thought. “If we're appealing to his humanity, then I'm the best person to do it. I'm his twin, he has to remember something of me.”

Soos nodded in agreement; Marie looked ready to cry, and Stanley rocked awkwardly on his heels. Struggling to work past his emotion, Ford spluttered helplessly. “What if he hurts you? Or tries to recruit you?”

“I said no once already,” she retaliated, ignoring the surprised noise that Soos made. “If he really cared to have me around that much, he’d have just forced me then.” 

“That was a year ago!” he cried. “Goodness knows how much he’s changed since then. Besides which, you’re valuable to the bunker, and it might be an advantage for them to keep you. Bill managed to get Dipper on his side and that wasn’t really something we expected.” Gideon gave a quiet  _ tch _ in response to that statement, and Robbie punched him in the head.

“I know to be careful, okay? And who else would we send?”

Ford didn’t really have an answer to this; while he, too, looking imploringly at Stanley, Stan shook his head. “It’s still dangerous,” he said. “I’d go, willingly, were I not working on important technology. I’m not saying that there is anyone who  _ deserves _ to be in that kind of danger, but you’re definitely too important.”

Mabel thought she felt Pacifica reach for her arm. “He’s  _ my  _ sibling. He won’t hurt me. Like I said, he’s had his chance -”

“This isn't  _ Dipper _ we're talking about!” he cried, running one hand through his hair. “How many times does it need saying? Pine Tree is not, and probably never will be, Dipper! We need to use the Cipher Wheel first and foremost. Trying to get him  _ back _ isn't-” he deflated, sharply. “It's not our priority.” 

She didn't reply. Tom discreetly took his wife's hand.

“How many arguments do we have to have, Mabel?” Ford sighed. “Fine. Go. I'm not going to pretend to approve.”

She nodded. Soos ran up to her, hugged her tightly, and smiled with the utmost belief. “I can do it,” she said, catching Stan’s eye, and wincing at the horrified expression on her mother’s face. “I can do it,” she repeated.

***

Pacifica caught Mabel’s arm as she opened her bedroom door, grasp much tighter than usual, fingers taut. “Mabel,” she implored, voice thick. “You can’t be serious about this.”

“Somebody has to go.” It stung far too much to see Pacifica so unnerved, usually completely calm. “If not me, then somebody else we love. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Her smile wasn’t quite convincing; for a second, it seemed as though Pacifica was teetering upon a monumental decision, eyes dancing over the lines of Mabel’s face. Even as she pulled her grip away, Mabel felt as though those eyes could see something unique.

“I’ll be okay,” she promised, under her breath.

“I know,” came the reply, and Pacifica stepped back. “You should sleep. You’ll have a long day ahead.”

Catching her hand regretfully for a second, Pacifica was suddenly gone, leaving Mabel to pinch at her tear ducts and slip into her bedroom. Sleeping was likely to be far more difficult than usual. Events like Christmas had kept her up as a child; now, the temporary insomnia couldn’t be explained by excitement.

It was fear, and if she were honest with herself, anticipation.

***

_ Temperatures are expected to reach an unforeseen high of 115 degrees, given the complete lack of rainfall or natural winds. Where the light source of Earth  _ is _ has been hotly debated by the remaining scientists, and as of yet we are unsure whether the sun is actually creating any of our natural light.  _

_ We extend a hand of thanks to our listeners, who are still estimated to sit in the tens of thousands. That you are tuning in during the darkest of times - it means the world. _

* * *

_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!! 
> 
> SONG: [ Amsterdam by Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgfvOqJftIY)


End file.
